


Liberté

by kiyala



Series: The Peoples' Dragon [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Temeraire Fusion, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Oblivious Idiots Everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1832. Enjolras is the captain of the Flamme-de-Gloire Patria in the Armee de l'Air. With Admiral Lamarque, he fights against the mistreatment of dragons in post-Napoleonic France. When those in power seek to silence him, Enjolras finds himself accused of treason, sent away with his crew on a mission that they are not likely to survive, and with more blood on his hands than he can ever hope to wash off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberté

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [jaye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross) and [pie](http://piecrmbs.tumblr.com/) for your patience, support and help. And thank you to [Cait](http://xianghua.livejournal.com/) too!
> 
>  
> 
> This is a Téméraire fusion and while book knowledge isn't entirely necessary, here is a link to [information about the dragon breeds](http://www.temeraire.org/wiki/Dragon_Breeds) that might help, if you're interested.

A loud roar of pain fills the air, and Enjolras finds himself tensing. There's cannon fire from the ship below and the loud beating of wings as the dragons in their formation move out of the way. Juliette, the middleweight Pascal's Blue that had been struck before, is still in the air but even from here, Enjolras can tell that the damage is bad.

"Patria," he murmurs, touching his dragon's neck, feeling the shift of the muscles beneath his hand, telling him that she is listening to him. "Let us end this now."

"Gladly," she replies, and draws a deep breath. Enjolras can feel the flames stirring in her throat. 

The Armee de l'Air have a handful of Flamme-de-Gloires and their fire-breathing capabilities make them devastating in battles against ships. Enjolras knows what he's been sent here to do, he just doesn't understand _why_. 

The British ships catch fire easily and Enjolras watches in silence as Patria wheels around, breathing fire until the ships are nothing more than floating pyres, the water a dark red as it reflects the smoke and dancing flames.

Enjolras looks to his right, where Combeferre stands. His first lieutenant and closest friend, Combeferre often thinks on the same wavelength as Enjolras and he looks just as unhappy as Enjolras feels about this entire situation. Their victory may have been an easy one, but Enjolras takes no pleasure in it at all.

"Juliette is falling," Patria announces, alarmed.

Sure enough, the injured dragon is hurtling down towards the sea. Her eyes are shut; she must have fallen unconscious from the pain. Her crew cling to her harness, too high and descending much too quickly to cut themselves loose.

"Max!" Patria cries, but Marius has already noticed the falling dragon, and is urging his Defendeur-Brave forward. 

Max beats his large wings in a blur of green and gold, diving after Juliette as his crew hold onto his harness for their lives. He spreads his wings once he's beneath her, and the crew quickly clear off his back, clipping their carabiners onto the sides of Max's harness. 

Max is a heavyweight, and a solidly built one at that, but with Juliette unconscious, she cannot slow the speed of her descent. Max lets out a muted cry of pain as she lands heavily on his back, and then roars even louder as her claws scrape along his sides. Enjolras watches in horror as the harness is ripped apart beneath Juliette's claws, and the crew scramble away from the torn leather and dragon claws, climbing higher up Max's back to secure Juliette in place. 

Both Marius and Max look panicked, but they move in concert with the understanding that comes between captain and dragon. Max steadies himself, flying in slow circles as Marius and his midwingmen help Juliette's crew down. From his place on Patria's back, Enjolras can tell that Joly quickly checks on Juliette before gathering a handful of fellow crew members to patch up the scratches on Max's sides. They're bleeding profusely and Joly might be learning, but he is still not a proper dragon physician.

"Tell everyone in the formation to land," Enjolras shouts, and Feuilly sends the message up in flags, waiting for confirmation from the other crews. 

There's a clearing near the beach, and they allow Max to land first, before the others join him. There are two other middleweights in the formation aside from Juliette and Patria, and their captains are going through their meagre inventories to offer bandages for Max and strips of leather to mend the harness. 

"Pontmercy!" Enjolras unclips himself from Patria's harness, letting her lower him onto the ground, and runs over to his fellow captain. 

"Enjolras." Marius offers him a weak smile, looking clearly shaken. "Thank you for letting us rest for a moment and get everything sorted before returning back."

"Is there anything I can do? Any of Juliette's crew that Patria can carry?" He glances at Juliette, who is still resting on Max's back, relieved to see that she is breathing, if shallowly. "What has Joly said?"

"There is not much that we can do for Juliette until we can get back to the covert so that a qualified physician can take a look at her. He's mostly concerned with Max's bleeding. He's gone to soak some bandages in the sea, in the hopes that the salt water will keep them from becoming infected for now."

Combeferre, who has been training under dragon physicians with Joly, has gone to help him. Enjolras works with the other captains, splitting Juliette's crew between the other dragons. Clément, Juliette's captain, does not leave her side and nobody can blame him. 

Once Max's wounds have been dressed to the best of their current ability, his harness is temporarily fixed, and Juliette is secured to his back in a way that will prevent further injury, they take to the air once again, heading back to Central Command in Paris. 

"Is Juliette going to be alright?" Patria asks with concern as they fly.

"I do not know, my dear," Enjolras replies, stroking over the scales at the base of her neck. "She does not appear to bleeding."

"At least not externally," adds Grantaire, one of his midwingmen. Enjolras glares at him, but Grantaire simply shrugs unapologetically. "More and more of our dragons are getting injured on these missions… and for what purpose? What are we actually achieving? The injuries the dragons sustain are far more serious than anything they've been sent out to do."

Courfeyrac nods in agreement and Enjolras frowns. He cannot even argue with Grantaire on this point.

For the past few years, the orders they've been receiving from Central Command have confused and frustrated Enjolras to no end. His fellow captains have all noticed; particularly when their dragons have suffered injuries that simply have not felt like they were worth it. Even this mission is the same; the British ships that they'd been sent to engage hadn't even posed any kind of significant threat. A scout had simply noticed them and reported their location, and they'd been given the order to stop them from sailing any closer. 

There was absolutely no reason for them to actually fight; Enjolras couldn't think of any when they'd flown here and with both Juliette and Max injured as they are, he certainly can't think of any now. 

Juliette still hasn't stirred by the time they reach Paris. Joly looks concerned and Clément is terrified, pleading with his dragon to open her eyes. Enjolras finds himself stroking Patria's neck as he watches on with pity.

Juliette is carefully moved away to a separate clearing, with two dragon physicians pulled from taking care of other injured dragons to examine her. Max is made to wait for longer, but his wounds are no longer bleeding as much as they were before. Both Joly and Combeferre declare that it's nothing serious, and Marius visibly relaxes upon hearing it. Eponine, Marius' first lieutenant, places a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking relieved herself.

The other captains remove their dragons' heavy harnesses and leave them to fly over to the feeding grounds. Patria must be hungry as well, but she stays where she is even after her ground crew have removed her battle harness. She settles down on the ground just behind Enjolras, in her regular, lighter harness and the golden breastplate that Enjolras had gifted her with, having used his first ever payment of prize money to have it commissioned for her. There's a ruby laid in the centre—the largest that Enjolras could afford—and it gleams in the sunlight.

"You need not stay behind for me," Max tells her. "Although I do appreciate your company."

"Nonsense. You will grow bored if you are left here on your own," Patria replies, and then hastily adds, "Not that I am saying that Pontmercy and Thénardier will bore you, of course."

Marius laughs at that and it's a strained sound, entirely different to the genuinely delighted laugh that Enjolras is used to hearing from him. "No offence taken, Patria. Thank you for staying here for Max. It is very kind of you."

Patria puffs her chest proudly, and Enjolras finds himself chuckling fondly. He feels a sudden surge of relief that his dragon is unharmed. He would not hide his concern as well as Marius, were their situations switched. He cannot even bear the thought of Patria being unconscious, the way that Juliette is. 

"Still waiting, Max?" 

Enjolras turns when he hears Grantaire's voice. The midwingman is walking towards them with a tray crowded with mugs. Catching his eye, Grantaire smiles at him, open and cheerful, before he turns to Marius.

"I thought that you could do with a drink. Pinched the tray from the kitchens."

Enjolras frowns. "Wine is not allowed in the courtyard, Grantaire."

"Well then you'd better hurry up and drink," Grantaire replies, nodding approvingly at Marius, who drains his mug in large gulps and Eponine, who follows suit. To Enjolras' irritation, both Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who are waiting with him, also reach for mugs.

" _Grantaire_ —"

"They're putting Juliette down," Grantaire says in a low voice, quiet enough that the dragons don't hear, lost in their own conversation. "She isn't waking. The cannonball that hit her crushed her chest. She started falling out of the sky when she couldn't take breaths deep enough to fill her air sacs."

Enjolras draws a shaky breath, feeling his heart sink. Clément must be devastated. "How did you come to know?"

In reply, Grantaire simply takes the last mug—the one Enjolras did not accept—from his tray and drains it. "Nobody can ever tell when I am listening and when I am not. You should know."

With that, Grantaire takes the empty mugs back and walks inside, his news leaving the group in a sombre silence.

"She deserved better than this," Enjolras mutters, shaking his head. "It was not the canon that killed her, it was our pointless orders. Our presence there was unnecessary."

Combeferre places a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. He's heard this complaint before, but the injured dragons have only ever required bandaging, or for their wounds to be cauterised. Nothing permanent. Never before has the cost of their missions been so high.

A dragon physician finally starts walking in their direction. Marius sighs in relief, no doubt doubly glad that his dragon is receiving care now. He nods to Enjolras, both in thanks and to let him know that he does not need to stay any longer. 

Enjolras leaves Patria behind to keep an eye on Max, and walks to the main building, followed by Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He needs to speak with Admiral Lamarque.

«·»

Luckily for them, Lamarque is not in a meeting but sitting in his office on his own. Not that Combeferre is under any illusions that Enjolras would wait, even if Lamarque asked him to.

"Enjolras, come in." Lamarque always has a warm greeting for Enjolras, no matter what the situation. As the admiral of the biggest base in the Armee de l'Air, Lamarque should probably _not_ be playing favourites, but Combeferre can plainly see that he makes more allowances for Enjolras than any other captain under his command. The others can't even fault him for it; Enjolras has always been a quick study and had served as a cadet, then midwingman on Liberté, Lamarque's own Grand Chevalier before Patria had hatched. He's always been Lamarque's brightest pupil and more than that, they both tend to think in a similar manner, which has lead to a strong friendship built on mutual respect and understanding.

"Combeferre, Courfeyrac," Lamarque smiles at them when he notices them standing behind Enjolras. "Please, come inside. And shut the door behind you, if you would be so kind. I doubt that all three of you have come to pay a social visit."

Enjolras remains standing, his arms folded across his chest. Combeferre shuts the door quietly and stands with his back against it, shoulder to shoulder with Courfeyrac.

"Juliette, the Pascal's Blue in Patria's formation," Enjolras begins without preamble. "She was hit by cannon fire when we engaged the British ships. She is not going to survive. One of my midwingmen, Grantaire, informed us that her chest was crushed under the impact."

"Oh, god." Lamarque's hand goes to his mouth and he looks truly horrified by the very thought. He glances out towards the dragon clearings, thinking of Juliette, thinking of Liberté, or perhaps both. Combeferre had felt his heart clench at the thought of Patria being injured in a similar manner; he can only guess at how much worse the imagined pain must be for a captain. He thinks, not for the first time and not even for the tenth, of how inconsolable poor Clément must be.

"These were your orders," Enjolras says with a frown, but there is no accusation in his tone.

They all know that Lamarque is just as opposed to the idea of picking pointless fights as the rest of them. The orders come from above him and as much as he tries to argue against the ones that put them in far too much risk for far too little gain, the amount of difference it makes has been steadily decreasing.

"You said that you needed compelling evidence that what the Armee de l'Air is doing is little more than a waste of time and resources. You have a dragon that is going to be shot through the head in her clearing outside. I would call that quite compelling indeed."

Lamarque sighs, getting out of his chair and pacing in the small space behind his desk. "Certainly. There will be a meeting tomorrow evening. I will bring it up then. Before that, I will speak with Clément. His crew will need to be reassigned. It's a damn shame for a captain to have to bury his dragon."

Enjolras nods gravely. "I would rather die with Patria in battle."

Courfeyrac shifts uncomfortably at that, and Combeferre presses his lips together as he frowns. The problem is that they both know that for Enjolras, this is not a grand claim or an exaggeration. It is the simple truth.

"Hopefully, it will not come to that," Lamarque comments. "I will go outside to see Juliette and Clément. Thank you for coming here to inform me. I only hope that Juliette will not die in vain, that the tragedy of this situation will lead to some _change_."

Enjolras nods in agreement, saluting Lamarque before turning to leave. Combeferre does the same, opening the door for them. Enjolras leads the way down to the mess hall, looking around until he finds Marius, sitting at a table with members of both of their crews.

Eponine is sitting with Musichetta, Grantaire, Bahorel and Feuilly, with Marius on her left. He's in conversation with Joly and Jehan. The cadets are supposed to be attending to their studies, but Gavroche runs towards Courfeyrac when the three of them enter the building.

"Is Juliette really going to die?" He asks, as Courfeyrac picks him up. "I keep hearing about it but nobody's telling me if it's true."

Courfeyrac exchanges glances with Combeferre, neither of them sure of what to say. Eponine notices them and gets to her feet, walking towards them with a sigh.

"Gavroche, you should be with the other cadets. Just because Courfeyrac has a soft spot for you, that does not mean you can use it to get out of work. Get down, and get out of here."

"Juliette's cadets haven't come in," Gavroche replies. "None of her crew have."

"That is Clément's call to make and has nothing to do with you. Now, I hope you leave before your captain punishes you for not doing your work."

Enjolras takes his cue to give Gavroche a stern look. "I would not want to have to leave you behind the next time we have a mission, Thénardier. Your sister is right. You know where you should be."

Gavroche knows better than to argue with Enjolras; he can be persuaded, with a strong enough argument, but few arguments ever are, and very few crew members even bother to try. Aside from Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the only crew member to argue with Enjolras is Grantaire and he doesn't disagree so much as _challenge_ Enjolras, turning everything Enjolras says around and poking holes in it until he's satisfied. 

Combeferre knows that it irritates Enjolras to no end. Grantaire has been a constant source of frustration to Enjolras for years; ever since Grantaire had first joined the Armee de l'Air, sometime in his mid-teens, leaving behind a family that he rarely speaks about, and the constant disapproval he'd received from them. He's cynical and blunt one moment, then laughing and playful the next. He loves dragons, he adores Patria, and he makes a good midwingman. He's been part of Patria's crew ever since Enjolras had first harnessed her when she hatched, because Grantaire had requested it. It still confuses Enjolras at times, why Grantaire is so loyal, so keen to follow him when he takes so much enjoyment in disagreeing with Enjolras and poking fun at him. Combeferre isn't about to explain it to him; he suspects that Enjolras doesn't realise Grantaire cares for anything or anyone, much less that he cares for _Enjolras_. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are united in mutual frustration, unsure if Enjolras is ever going to notice. Either way, they're staying out of it.

"Enjolras," Grantaire greets as they walk towards the table. He pushes a cup of wine over towards him, a smile tugging at his lips when Enjolras accepts it, before it fades into a grim frown.

"You have more news about Juliette," Enjolras realises, sitting down. Based on the fact that the others don't immediately lean in to listen, they already know about it. Combeferre and Courfeyrac sit down on either side of Enjolras so they can hear as Grantaire speaks in a quiet voice.

"They're putting her down before sunset. There's no need for them to prolong her suffering."

"The dragons," Enjolras mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. "The others are going to be devastated."

"The plan is that they'll do it during our afternoon formation drills. I don't know what the captains are going to be told. I suppose that you'll find that out for yourself." Grantaire licks his lips and takes another sip of his wine. "I suppose you went to speak with Lamarque."

"I did. There is a meeting among all the admirals tomorrow, including the grand admiral himself. He will bring it up, and we can finally begin working on a way to stop this from happening. The dragons are being misused and _mistreated_. It is time that this come to an end."

"You believe that Lamarque can make a difference this time, after all his previously failed attempts?"

"I believe that Juliette's _death_ will make a difference. Otherwise, it will have meant nothing."

Grantaire doesn't reply to that, but it's clear from his expression that he is not convinced. Enjolras sighs and looks away, turning to Marius. 

"Have you heard anything from Clément?" he asks. "I know that his entire crew is still outside with Juliette."

"Saying their goodbyes," Marius nods. "That's all I know."

More and more captains and crew enter the mess hall as other formations return, all of them curious about Juliette. The news spreads quickly from one table to the next, captains looking stricken as they empathise with Clément, crew of various positions muttering to each other that this is too high a cost, on top of doing missions that nobody sees the worth in.

Eventually, Admiral Lamarque enters the hall, calling a meeting for captains and first lieutenants. Combeferre rises with Enjolras, placing a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder before walking away to the meeting room with Marius and Eponine, and other pairs of captains and their first lieutenants, none of them uttering a single word, sobered by the knowledge of what this is about.

"I have no doubt that you all must have a general idea of what had happened by now," Lamarque says to the group at large, once he has closed the door behind him. Clément and his first lieutenant Levine are conspicuously absent. "Juliette was struck by a cannonball while attacking a British vessel and has suffered serious, irreparable damage to her chest from the force of it. She is not returning to consciousness, and is barely able to breathe. There is little to be done for her now, but to end her suffering. She will be shot in the late afternoon, while the rest of your dragons are doing their formation drills. We want as few dragons present as possible while we are dealing with the matter. If you wish to explain to your dragons before you return to the grounds… I would encourage it, frankly. I do not think that they would appreciate it coming as a surprise. You are all excused from duty for the rest of the day after your drills. I doubt that your dragons will be in the mood for activity."

They're dismissed, and even though Lamarque immediately leaves to make the necessary preparations, the others are slower to move. Several of them hang back, shaking their heads and muttering that all of this could have been easily avoided, bringing up the injuries that other dragons have received doing unnecessary missions and how nothing has been done despite how much they insist that something be changed.

"It's the government," Enjolras declares with disgust. "After Napoleon's reign, it's worried that France will fade into obscurity, that we will no longer be seen as a strong or even remotely powerful nation. So they do all they can to make their presence established and acknowledged. Picking petty fights. Declaring every little thing as a threat."

Several of the others nod in agreement, clearly sharing Enjolras' views on the matter.

"We are lucky to have an Admiral who understands," Combeferre says. "Someone who will fight for the rights of his captains, their dragons, and their crews." 

Courfeyrac hums in agreement. "This time, surely, _something_ will be done."

«·»

"No, no, no," Patria cries, shaking her head. "They cannot do that to poor Juliette, they _cannot_ , Enjolras, please!"

"Patria, calm down, listen to me." Enjolras places a hand on her foot in an effort to placate her. "It was necessary. It would not have been fair to make her suffer for any longer."

In response, Patria only shakes her head even harder. Her harness shakes, metal rings and carabiners rattling against her scales and against each other. Grantaire is glad that Enjolras had the foresight to make Patria land and instructed the crew to get off before breaking the news to her. 

He can see other dragons and their crews landed in different places throughout the valley, all in varying states of distress. The captains have all flown their dragons far enough away from the main grounds that they won't be able to hear the gunfire that will finally put Juliette to rest.

Grantaire doesn't know how long it's been since they've left, and he doesn't know how long they have to pass before they can return with the dragons. He doubts that there will be any trace of Juliette left when they get back. He isn't sure how he feels about that. On one hand, it is a good thing that there won't be anything tangible for the others to grieve over. On the other, it's somewhat terrifying to think that one moment she's there and the next, there's nothing more than a memory to mourn. 

The entire crew, down to the youngest cadet, stand on the grass in silence, heads bowed. Grantaire finds his mind wandering to dark thoughts, wondering how many rifles it takes to kill a dragon, how strong the bullets must be to pierce the dragon's skull. 

He's pulled out of such thoughts when Combeferre takes his pocket watch out, flicking it open and checking the time with a low hum. "I think it is time that we return."

Patria has calmed down now, though she's clearly unhappy. She sits there, unresponsive with her head drooped as the crew clamber back onto her, locking themselves in place. She checks that everything is secure before springing into the air. Grantaire watches as the dragons in Patria's formation find each other in the air, pulling together into their regular short-distance formation. Juliette typically takes the front point when they are attacking, and that is why she had been the one to get hit. In this formation, she's usually flying to Patria's left. Grantaire can't keep himself from looking over to the empty space as they fly. He isn't the only one.

The mood is heavy when they return, dragons and aviators alike all in mourning. Grantaire finds himself glancing around, wondering where they'd killed Juliette. Perhaps they'd taken her away from the main clearing as well.

Her crew are all standing there, some with wet eyes, the cadets crying openly. Grantaire realises with a sick jolt that Clément is not with them.

Enjolras curses under his breath, and Grantaire knows that he has noticed as well, and that they have come to the same conclusion. 

"You are dismissed," Enjolras says to his crew. "I will see you all tomorrow morning and if the dragons' moods have lifted by then, we will get back to work. Until then, rest."

One by one, the aviators leave the courtyard. Bahorel glances at Grantaire, silently asking if he's coming. Grantaire shakes his head, hanging back and watching the other dragons, the other crews. The captains linger behind, giving their dragons whatever words of comfort they have, ineffective as they might be. Grantaire watches Enjolras walk away, his expression clouded with thought, flanked as always by Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Several of the dragons pile together, seeking comfort through their proximity. Patria hangs back, watching them all.

Grantaire sighs. Patria is extremely similar to Enjolras in several respects, from her fiery temper to the unconditional affection Grantaire feels for the both of them. Just like her captain, she does not seek comfort in others, attempting to bear her pain on her own, regardless of how bad it might be.

He walks towards her, placing a hand on her foot. She looks down at him, dropping her head to rest on the ground beside him. Grantaire does not know what to say; he has no desire to speak meaningless words of comfort to her, so he sits down on the ground beside her instead. She moves her foot closer so that he can lean against it and he watches her, as he watches Enjolras, marvelling at her strength, her beauty, her power, while simultaneously picking out her fears, her pain, understanding her better for it.

Unlike Enjolras, she notices all of this.

"I will miss Juliette. She was a good friend. She was such fun to play with."

"I will miss her as well. She was a good dragon." He sighs. Clément had been a good captain, too. They both deserved a better fate than this.

Patria is silent for a long moment, and then finally asks, "If it had been me, instead of Juliette, to have been struck by that cannonball…"

"Please," Grantaire begs, "don't even think of that. My imagination can be cruel at the best of times."

Patria makes an unhappy sound, and Grantaire reaches across to stroke her neck soothingly.

"We had no other option for Juliette," he tells her gently. "The same would have happened if it had been one of the crew to be hit and so seriously injured. Even if they survived, they would not have a full life. They might not be able to move at all, and the pain would be constant."

"I would not want that to happen to anybody."

"Nobody would. It's all terribly unpleasant."

They sit there together, and Grantaire eventually manages to distract Patria from her grief by telling her stories. He makes them up as he goes, embellishing them specifically o fit the questions she asks as she listens; _how big a castle?_ , and, _what kinds of treasure?_ , and he reaches the end, the dragon in his story settling happily into her pile of rubies and garnets and gold coins, when Patria lifts her head and says, "Enjolras is coming."

Grantaire looks up and sure enough, Enjolras is walking towards them. The courtyard is darkening now that the sun is setting and Enjolras is carrying a lantern with him. 

"Grantaire," he greets quietly, looking surprised. "When I couldn't find you, I'd assumed you went into town with Bahorel to drink."

Grantaire shrugs in response. "The thought was tempting."

"Have you been sitting with Patria this entire time?" Enjolras asks, his hands tucked into his pockets. "I did say that you have the rest of the day off duty."

"Enjolras," Grantaire sighs. "I am not here because I have to be. I am here because I _want_ to be."

"…Oh." Enjolras blinks at him, clearly at a loss for what to say.

Grantaire takes pity on him, getting to his feet and patting Patria before smiling at Enjolras. "I'll leave you to your dragon."

The night has barely begun; Grantaire has plenty of time to go into town and find Bahorel in whichever tavern he's decided to go to this time. It doesn't take Grantaire very long at all; they've been here for several years and that's given all of them enough time to work out which taverns are the best. Bahorel, especially, makes a point to go to all of the taverns in town whenever he has the chance and he's fairly well-known by the staff in all of them. 

Most of the time, it would take Grantaire hours, searching high and low in every single building before moving on to the next, but tonight is different. Tonight, Bahorel will be in his favourite place where the serving girls like him well enough to give him the strongest drinks that they have, and he won't be spending as much of his coin for it.

Bahorel is not alone when Grantaire finds him. He's there with Feuilly, Eponine, Bossuet, Joly, Jehan, Musichetta and Marius, all of them crowded around a table at the very back.

"How is Patria?" Bahorel asks when Grantaire sits down beside him.

"Upset. Understandably so. I managed to distract her for a while, but I'm unsure of how long that will last for."

"And Enjolras?" Bahorel asks, quieter.

"I didn't speak to him for very long. He clearly wanted to be alone with Patria, even if he didn't say so." Grantaire sighs quietly. "They'll both be fine, with the rest of us, but the next time another group of dragons is sent out on a mission that comes from above Lamarque and then return with injuries? It won't matter whose formation it is. Enjolras will take it personally, and so will Patria."

"They can't take responsibility for everyone." Bahorel frowns. "That's not their job. It's Lamarque's, and Liberté's."

Grantaire gives him a humourless smile. "Who do you think they picked it up from? Besides, Enjolras is… well, Enjolras. You can try telling him that it's not his responsibility to stop any more dragons from being harmed on these kinds of missions, and he'll just tell you that _somebody_ has to, so it might as well be him."

Jehan, who is half-listening to their conversation, smiles and says, "But that is part of what makes Enjolras so admirable, isn't it? His determination is inspiring."

"His determination is going to get people hurt," Grantaire mutters darkly. "And I'm afraid that he'll be at the top of that list."

"Enjolras knows what he is doing," Jehan says, sounding certain. "He knows his limits."

Grantaire disagrees completely, but there is no point in starting an argument about that now, when there are more important things that weigh on their minds. He simply sits back and drinks his wine, enjoying the sharpness of this particular brand.

He and his friends get steadily drunk as the night stretches on, pausing to have their dinner before they fill their cups once again. Musichetta leaves not long after dinner, smirking at the others in the group. Nobody is even remotely surprised when both Bossuet and Joly make their excuses shortly afterwards.

Eponine leans against Marius, who is completely oblivious to the way she looks at him. Grantaire fights the urge to smack the back of his head. To make matters even worse, Bahorel begins flirting with the serving girls, which is something he does on a regular basis anyway but this time, Grantaire notices the way Jehan's smile begins to fade. He looks less and less cheerful with every grin Bahorel sends the girls' way and by the time he has one of them sitting in his lap, Jehan looks downright miserable.

"Alright, up we get." Grantaire pulls Jehan to his feet, swaying slightly. "Time to go back."

"But…"

"He'll be fine," Grantaire replies, not bothering to look back at Bahorel. He's used to this; Bahorel has slept with more serving girls—and boys—than either of them can keep track of. "Eponine, we're going. Are you going to stay?"

Marius is lost in conversation with Feuilly, so Eponine gets up and links arms with Jehan, who is the steadiest on his feet out of all of them. She doesn't look particularly happy either and Grantaire sighs, leading the way back home.

They run into Enjolras in the courtyard. He's carrying his lantern while they're trying not to stumble through the dark and joins them, holding the lantern higher so that they can all see where they are going.

"You took them drinking?" Enjolras asks.

"They took _themselves_ drinking," Grantaire replies. "I am simply bringing them home."

Enjolras gives him an odd look. It's the expression he usually wears when his expectations of Grantaire have been exceeded by reality. Grantaire prizes each and every one of them, hoarding them in his memory the same way Patria hoards the treasures Enjolras gifts her with.

Enjolras looks at Jehan and Eponine, taking in their dejected expressions. He looks back at Grantaire. "Thoughtful of you."

Grantaire gives him a one-shouldered shrug. "Perhaps I just didn't want to walk back on my own."

"I do not believe that," Enjolras says quietly.

"Always trying to find the _best_ in people," Grantaire mutters and he means for it to be mocking, but he's too drunk and too tired to give his words the right emphasis. Instead, he finds himself adding, "It must be so terribly exhausting."

"Only when they try their hardest to keep it hidden from me." Enjolras' hand is light on Grantaire's back. "Come on. This way."

«·»

Bahorel wakes before the sun rises, in a bed that isn't his. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings and remember enough of the previous night to work out where he is.

The girl beside him sleeps on and he leaves her be, pulling the blanket back over her shoulders so that she doesn't feel cold. He doesn't remember her name but he knows that it's not the one he'd called at climax anyway.

He gets dressed and slips out of the room, careful not to make too much noise as he descends the stairs to the main part of the tavern. It's empty now, and still a little messy from last night. Bahorel rights fallen chairs as he walks to the door, holding the bell still so that it doesn't jingle on his way out.

By the time he returns to the residential tower, the sun is a vague suggestion on the eastern horizon. He climbs the stairs to his room and collapses into bed, glad for whatever rest he can get before he needs to wake up again. 

When he next opens his eyes, the sun is all the way over the horizon and Grantaire is slowly shuffling out of his own bed, on the other side of the room.

"Oh, you're back," Grantaire says around a big yawn. "Before the wake-up call, too."

"Enjolras would've skinned me alive if I crawled back in after," Bahorel mutters.

"Doesn't always stop you." Grantaire stretches and yawns again. "Time to get ready, I suppose. Knowing Patria, she'll want to do some kind of drills even if the others aren't in the mood for it yet. I think it would be good for her anyway. It will get her mind off less pleasant matters."

Bahorel nods. "And knowing Enjolras, he'll probably be encouraging that."

Grantaire smiles. "I'll see you down in the mess hall for breakfast."

By the time Bahorel finally manages to drag himself out of bed and get ready, there are already quite a few aviators in the hall. Enjolras, Marius and a handful of other captains are sitting at a table with Lamarque, already deep in conversation with him. Bahorel walks past them, to the end of the long table that Grantaire has claimed.

Jehan is sitting beside Grantaire, with Joly, but when Bahorel bids him a good morning his answering smile is strained. When Bahorel turns to Grantaire with a questioning look, he gets nothing more than a subtle shake of the head, telling him to drop it.

"So Patria is doing drills, but how about the others?" Bahorel asks as he eats. The other captains had been wearing their complete uniforms when Bahorel had glanced in their direction. 

"Lamarque is flying out to meet with other Admirals today," Grantaire says, "and judging by the rant Enjolras was having just before you walked in, we seem to have received yet another set of orders."

They both look over to Lamarque's table. All of the captains look stressed; Enjolras simply looks furious.

"I cannot believe that they would send us more orders so soon," Jehan mutters. "They know what happened to Juliette. They should know that the dragons won't be in the mood for anything that will put even more of them in danger."

"Well, it seems that Enjolras is doing his best to argue their way out of it," Grantaire observes. "Besides, we know that at heart, Lamarque agrees with Enjolras. It's just a matter of whether or not Enjolras will be able to convince him to actually listen."

"You think he will?" Bahorel asks. Combeferre and Courfeyrac aside, Grantaire has the best understanding of Enjolras. The tragedy of it is that Enjolras doesn't even realise.

"I think that Enjolras will try his hardest to argue the orders down so that it's just Patria on duty. He knows that the other dragons aren't quite done grieving Juliette. Not that Patria is, but they're both stubborn idiots that way."

Bahorel doesn't know anyone but Grantaire who would be able to make that sound like a term of affection. 

"So we should be ready for yet another mission then."

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at Bahorel with a quiet laugh. "Did you really expect anything different?"

Shrugging, Bahorel concedes the point. They've all served with Enjolras for long enough to know that he is quite possibly the most dedicated captain in the entirety of the Armee de l'Air, and that's counting most of the Admiralty as well.

More aviators come downstairs into the mess hall, most of them from Patria's crew. There are few from the other crews, but they all know their captains and their dragons well enough to know that they won't be flying today.

Enjolras approaches the table once his entire crew is there, the silent anger in his eyes the only remainder of the argument he'd had earlier. Everybody immediately falls silent, turning to Combeferre for guidance on what to do.

Combeferre rises to his feet, giving Enjolras a small smile. "Orders?"

"Lamarque was expected to send his captains out despite the fact that their dragons are clearly not in the mood to fly. I have managed to convince him to hold these orders back for a while, to allow the dragons enough time to grieve properly. Patria is willing to fly, so I have asked him to give us the orders that cannot be delayed. Lamarque would help if he could, but he will be in a meeting all day. We are going to have a busy day, making deliveries and passing on reports, flying our way south following one path. We will go down to Toulon and back up to Chaudes-Aigues to rest for the night, and then follow another path back here tomorrow to finish off the last of the deliveries we need to make."

Bahorel looks at Grantaire, who raises an eyebrow at him and mouths, _see?_

"We will set out as soon as we have finalised our flight paths," Enjolras tells them, and Combeferre takes his cue to follow Enjolras away, where they will pull out their maps and work out the quickest way to reach all the coverts scattered across the country.

"How many dragons' work will you place on Patria's shoulders?" Grantaire speaks up, his arms folded on the table. "It is all good and well that you are saving Lamarque from as much trouble as possible for not enforcing the orders he has received, but are you not expecting too much from Patria?"

Enjolras gives Grantaire a scornful look. "I know my dragon well, Grantaire. I know what she is capable of, and I know her limits. I will not push her beyond them."

Grantaire narrows his eyes, his mouth open to reply, but Bahorel kicks him under the table, knowing that Enjolras will not respond well. The last thing they need at the moment is for Enjolras to become even angrier than he already is.

"Patria will push herself beyond her limits for Enjolras," Grantaire mutters to Bahorel, as they go to pack their bags to leave. "She knows that Enjolras is pushing himself, so she'll do the same to match him and neither of them will realise they're doing anything stupid."

"Can you think of any alternative to what Enjolras is doing?" Bahorel asks.

"No," Grantaire sighs. "That doesn't make it any less irritating."

"You're worried for Enjolras."

"I'm worried that he'll do something stupid." Grantaire runs a hand through his hair. "I'm always worried he'll do something stupid, out of his sense of duty. Something reckless and dangerous and life-threatening."

"And yet you're still part of Patria's crew."

Grantaire shrugs and says no more on the matter. 

At the very least, there are no battles to fly into. Lamarque had refused to give those orders, and neither he nor Enjolras would have allowed Patria to fight without the rest of her formation. The flight is long and uneventful, but they're all used to longer flights and after being sent into so many battles, this is a pleasant break.

It only really gets unpleasant when they reach Chaudes-Aigues. They're greeted impatiently by Javert, an old captain who is in charge of the eggs incubating in the natural hot springs that the covert is built around. 

"I was expecting a courier hours ago, not a middleweight with a full crew," he snaps at Enjolras. "What does Lamarque think he's doing?"

"One of our dragons passed away just recently," Enjolras replies, and there's a hard edge to his voice. "The couriers are being given some time to recover from their grief."

"And yet your entire crew is here," Javert mutters, looking up at Patria. "Do you mean to say that your beast did not feel the same amount of grief as the others?"

"Of course she does," Enjolras growls, his brows drawn together. "Patria could put her grief aside to deal with the task at hand. I would not ask that of another dragon when mine is more than capable."

"And what makes you think that the other dragons would have been unable to do the same?" Javert asks. "What gives you the right to decide for others?"

"I know that this is an inconvenience," Combeferre cuts in, before Enjolras can continue arguing. "But we are here to deliver the information you requested from Lamarque, about the Fleur-de-Nuit hybrids—"

"Not out in the open here!" Javert calls for some nearby ground crew to find a clearing for Patria, and some space for the crew. 

Enjolras and Combeferre go with him, while the rest of them are squashed into a handful of spare rooms. Bahorel is certain that he'd seen several more rooms that were empty, but Javert doesn't seem particularly hospitable.

"I don't like him," Grantaire mutters, arms folded across his chest. 

"Me neither," Bahorel replies. "But on the bright side, we're leaving at first light tomorrow."

"Not sure who's looking forward to that more, us or Javert."

The next morning, Enjolras has Patria rigged and ready to leave as soon as they can see well enough to fly. They fly with their backs to the rising sun, and the rest of the stops they make are much more pleasant than Chaudes-Aigues. It's early in the afternoon when they finally return to Paris and the mood is still subdued as Patria lands and the crew get down and begin to put their equipment away.

"Something's wrong," Grantaire says to Bahorel in a low voice, frowning with concern and keeping an eye on Enjolras.

And that is when they find out that in their absence, Lamarque has fallen suddenly and severely ill.

«·»

"Let me see him," Enjolras demands, standing in front of Lamarque's room. The door is open but there are enough guards in the way that he cannot actually pass through. " _Let me see him_."

"Nobody is allowed through except for Lamarque's physicians," the head guard says, standing directly in Enjolras' way. "He is ill, he will not want to be bothered by a young, headstrong captain."

There's a weak cough from within, and Lamarque asks, "Enjolras, is that you?"

"Admiral Lamarque!" Enjolras takes this as permission to shoulder past the guards and into the room. He's shocked to see just how frail he looks, when he was perfectly healthy not long ago. "What happened?"

"I am told that it is some kind of sickness that has been lying dormant for a long time, waiting until I am so busy attending to other matters that my body is too distracted to continue fighting it." Lamarque smiles weakly. "I suppose things have been particularly busy since Juliette's unfortunate passing."

Enjolras' eyes narrow in disbelief. "But you have become so ill, so quickly."

"This is what my physicians tell me," Lamarque says quietly, and it confirms what Enjolras is already suspecting.

"You, that's enough, get out of here." The head guard grabs Enjolras by the shoulders and pulls him backwards, dragging him out of the room. 

Enjolras' gaze meets Lamarque's on his way out, and Lamarque gives him a silent nod. There is absolutely nothing Enjolras can do to help him now, and he hates this feeling of powerlessness. He cannot help Lamarque recover and he suspects that the physicians that come to check on him are not going to be of much help either.

"Leave the Admiral alone," the guard tells him, stepping out of the way as Enjolras turns around with half a mind to hit him. "You are the last person he needs to see at the moment, Captain Enjolras."

With a glare Enjolras walks away, shouldering past the guards taking up most of the space in the corridor that leads out to the rest of the residential quarters. The fact that there are more guards than he can count and not one single physician in sight only serves to confirm what he already knows. This is no simple sickness, and there is little chance that Lamarque will recover from it.

Enjolras does what he always does when he isn't sure of his next move; he goes to find Combeferre and Courfeyrac. 

The sun is down and Enjolras doesn't doubt that the majority of his crew is at one of the taverns in town, but he goes to Combeferre's room, knocking on the door and not the least bit surprised when Courfeyrac is the one to answer the door.

"How is he?" Combeferre asks, getting to his feet and running a hand through his hair in an effort to make it look less rumpled. Enjolras feels vaguely guilty for interrupting them, but he also knows from experience that if they were too busy for him, they would let him know.

"Not good," Enjolras replies, shaking his head. "It's difficult to believe that he can be as sick as he is now, when he was perfectly fine yesterday morning."

"Will he recover?" Courfeyrac asks. "How serious is it?"

Enjolras takes a deep breath and looks at his two closest friends as he says, "I believe that Lamarque has been poisoned."

Combeferre frowns, "Are you absolutely certain?"

"I am, Combeferre. He knows it, too. It must have happened while we were flying yesterday."

"Do you think it could have been during his meeting with the other Admirals?" Courfeyrac asks and then frowns. "But I don't understand why they would do that to him. If he has been knocking back orders that he is receiving from higher up based on the fact that he knows it's not safe for the dragons, I can understand how he might find himself on the others' bad side… but to poison him for it? That is cowardly."

"He is far too well-respected for them to just replace him with somebody else, and they cannot just rely on luck to have him killed in battle. They needed to rid themselves of him entirely, and in a way that made it look as though it was completely out of their control. What better way than to poison him?"

"You are beginning to sound paranoid," Combeferre warns, placing his hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "If not for the fact that I saw Lamarque in good health yesterday for myself, I would be having a difficult time believing this."

"But you _did_. The entire crew did, Combeferre. Surely, nobody believes that he was ill beforehand."

"What are you going to do?" Combeferre asks with a quiet sigh. 

"I am going to speak to the other captains and see what they think of this. From there, we'll decide what to do."

"What _can_ you do?" Courfeyrac frowns.

"They'll be seeking to replace Lamarque," Enjolras says. "They will get a new Admiral who will not fight for our dragons to be treated properly, who will not _care_ the way that Lamarque does."

The first captain Enjolras finds is Marius, with Eponine at his heels. They both look concerned, and Enjolras takes them aside, along with a few other captains he finds along the way. They end up crowded into Enjolras' room, with a good ten captains all worried about Lamarque and what will happen to the base—and their dragons—if Lamarque doesn't regain his health.

Enjolras, wanting to cut straight to the point and avoid giving the others false hope when he knows that it will be fruitless, steps onto the wooden chair at his desk so that they can all see him. "My friends, I wish I could give you the news that you want to hear. I wish I could tell you that Admiral Lamarque will make a quick recovery and that he will be back in charge soon enough. I fear that this will not be the case. I was not here to see how quickly he deteriorated, but I am certain that most of you were. I am certain that most of you saw how healthy he was not even two days ago. You will be told lies to keep you complacent; you will be fed stories about an underlying illness waiting for its chance to take hold, but I know that you are all far too clever to fall for this. You deserve the truth, and that is what I have for you. Lamarque is fading fast, at the hands of what can only be a poison."

"He ate his meals with the other Admirals when they came here for the meeting," Dupont, another captain, speaks up with a frown. "How could anybody poison him without the Admirals noticing?"

"Unless, of course," Eponine replies, "Admiral Lamarque was poisoned by those who would benefit most from replacing him. I don't imagine that the rest of the Admiralty is particularly pleased by the fact that Lamarque has been putting the health and safety of the dragons under his command before the orders that he has been receiving."

"So then they decide to poison him," Marius continues, "and put someone new in his position, who cares more about following orders than about the dragons."

"Exactly." Enjolras nods at them. "And of course they cannot kill him outright, so they try this instead. They assume that we will be too stupid to see what is really happening, and that without Lamarque to guide us, we will simply do as we are told without asking any questions."

This makes the captains mutter among themselves, all of them clearly unhappy about what is happening. Enjolras can hear snatches of conversation here and there; the captains are worried for their dragons, for their crew, for the amount of authority they will have when it comes to their own dragons.

"There is only one thing we can do now," Enjolras says, once the chatter has died down. "We must show the people who assume to control us that it will not be so easy. Lamarque was a kind and just Admiral, and we will accept nothing different. We will show them that we will not allow them to treat us like fools and simply silence any voices that seek to argue against their methods. My friends, we will make this abundantly clear to them and if they still do not understand and accept our message, we will revolt."

The captains cheer in unison, punching the air. Enjolras beams at them and for the time being, he feels as if together, they can achieve anything.

«·»

"You cannot possibly be serious," Grantaire mutters, cutting Enjolras off mid-speech, in front of his entire crew.

Enjolras glares at him, clearly not appreciating the interruption. Grantaire shrugs, unimpressed. 

Taking a deep breath, Enjolras continues to speak. "What we need to do is show everyone that we will not accept orders that will put our dragons and our crews in danger. We will all stand for what is right; we will prove to them that we do not need to hide behind Lamarque's position of power. We will not fall silent just because of what they have done to Lamarque. We will not let them get away with this."

Bahorel cheers, and others join in. There are several crews packed into one of the smaller taverns in town, where Bahorel, Grantaire, and several others know the staff and trust them not to share what they overhear. Grantaire can count twelve captains other than Enjolras and it's so crowded that everyone is pressed together. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are sharing a seat; Bahorel has pulled Jehan onto his lap; and Grantaire would find it all incredibly sweet, if it wasn't also incredibly uncomfortable.

"If they are not above poisoning Lamarque to get him out of their way, I do not doubt that they will respond to us kindly," Enjolras says. "I will be the first to admit that this will be dangerous. We may very well be putting our lives at risk here, but all of your captains have spoken to their dragons and have explained what is happening. They are willing to take a stand. If any of you are unwilling to risk your lives for this, let them leave now, with no judgment. If you do not know the details of what we are planning, it will mean that they will be unable to get the truth from you."

A handful of people leave. Enjolras glances over at Grantaire, looking surprised by he fact that he is still there. Grantaire isn't sure if it's real or just a product of his own wishful thinking, but Enjolras looks a little relieved.

They lock the doors of the tavern and clear the tables, rolling out maps of the base. Enjolras gets his markers out and positions them on the map to plan how they are going to stage their revolution. He and the other captains already seem to have a clear idea of what they're doing, if the speed at which they all move their markers into position is any indication.

"We will stay on the ground to begin with," Enjolras says to them. "We will have our dragons rigged for flight, but if we can avoid the actual battle itself that would be preferable. There is no need for any more dragons to be harmed. We will not attack unless we are attacked. We must make it clear that we will be peaceful until we are provoked."

Grantaire raises his bottle of wine to his lips, noting that Enjolras had said when and not _if_. That, at least, is one thing that they are agreed on.

Over the next hour, each member of each crew know exactly what they are doing. Enjolras' plan is for the dragons to block the main path of the base, only taking to the air when they are attacked. Once the plan itself has been settled, the only issue is to work out _when_ they are going to do it. 

"If Lamarque is still alive while we do this, they will find a way of pinning the blame on him," Grantaire points out. "He might be dying, but there are still ways that he can be made to suffer. Wait until he is at peace. Judging by his rate of deterioration, I doubt that you will be waiting for long."

That earns him another glare from Enjolras. Grantaire shrugs. "You know that it's true."

"If you do not support our cause, Grantaire, you can leave." 

"What, and let you go ahead with this without someone to tell you how stupid you are being?"

Enjolras narrows his eyes. "Say that again."

"Gladly." Grantaire takes another gulp of his wine and gets to his feet. "You are being stupid, Enjolras, and not only are you putting all the dragons in danger, you are putting them in a situation in which they will be forced to fight against their friends, their formation members. Are you expecting a small skirmish before the Admiralty see the error of their ways? If this turns into a fight, it will be a _big_ one. How do you expect to send out the message that you refuse to be part of the pointlessly violent battles when you are starting one right here? You are doing the exact same thing that _they_ are."

"What I am doing is completely different and you know it," Enjolras growls. "It is one battle to prevent several more, and we will not let it get out of hand."

"You say that now," Grantaire says evenly, "but do not believe for one moment that this entire thing is in _your_ hands. You cannot predict how your opposition will react, so do not presume to know how this will go. You could get yourself hurt. You could get yourself _killed_."

The others in the tavern exchange uncomfortable looks and while Grantaire knows that it has much more to do with the fact that he is being drunk and belligerent than the actual words coming from his mouth, Enjolras does not take kindly to it. He grabs Grantaire as the muttering gets louder, pulling him closer until they are almost nose to nose. 

"I will not have all of this brought down by one cynical drunkard," Enjolras snaps at him. "Do as you like, Grantaire, but do not stand in our way."

With that, Enjolras shoves him. There's only so far that Grantaire can stumble in such a crowded space before one of the tables stops him, but he receives the message loud and clear. Enjolras is not in the mood to be taunted tonight.

Grantaire catches Bahorel's eye on his way out, but Bahorel still has Jehan in his lap, surrounded by far too many people to get up. Shaking his head slightly to tell Bahorel to stay where he is, Grantaire pushes the door open and goes into the cold night.

He could go to another tavern and continue drinking there, but his feet take him back to base, through the dark courtyard and to the dragon clearings.

"Patria," Luna, one of the Fleur-de-Nuits speaks up, surprising Grantaire. "It is one of yours." 

He turns in the direction of the voice; Luna's deep blue and black scales make her impossible to see at night, especially when Grantaire's eyes are still adjusted to the light inside the tavern. The only indication of her presence at all are the white eyes that enable her to see clearly in the dark, blinking and following his movements.

Patria is awake and she lifts her head, tilting it to the side as she listens carefully. "Grantaire, is that you? Your footsteps sound familiar, only they are a little uneven tonight. Are you injured?"

Grantaire smiles, rubbing the part of his hip that had hit the table. "Nothing serious, no need to be concerned."

Patria lowers her head to nudge him gently. "You have been fighting with Enjolras again."

"Now, what makes you say that?" 

"You always come to visit me when you have fought," Patria tells him, resting her head on the ground beside Grantaire. "And if you do not, it is Enjolras who comes."

"Is that so?" Grantaire asks, genuinely surprised. "You've never told me that before."

"I do not imagine that Enjolras would be very pleased to know that I have told you," Patria confides, and then adds. "Though I am not entirely sure that he sees the pattern himself." 

"He just needs someone to complain to," Grantaire says with a quiet snort. "I suppose I give him a lot to complain about."

Patria sighs. "I am worried about Lamarque. And about Liberté. I saw some men taking him away to his clearing, where they chained him down."

Grantaire looks at her, alarmed. "Chained him down?"

"So that he wouldn't hurt himself in his grief, is what they said," Patria tells him. "Does this mean that Lamarque is getting worse?"

"I… don't know." More importantly, Grantaire doesn't know how to break the news to Patria, and doubts that he should be the one doing it. "I need to find Enjolras."

By the time he returns to the residential tower, he sees most of the people from the taverns returning to their rooms. Grantaire goes straight to Enjolras room and knocks on the door.

"What do you want?" Enjolras asks with a frown, and Grantaire simply pushes his way into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Liberté's been chained down in his clearing," Grantaire says without any preamble. "I think we both know that this means Lamarque isn't expected to make it through the night, and I can only imagine what they're going to do to Liberté after that—"

"Lamarque is dead," Enjolras interrupts, and Grantaire stares at him. He finally notices that there is a faint sheen to Enjolras' eyes. "Gavroche took his duty very seriously—he let us know as soon as he heard. He came all the way to the tavern to tell us, not long after you left."

"Oh." Grantaire's voice is quiet, and he doesn't quite know what to say. He reaches out to place a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "I am sorry…"

"The day of Lamarque's funeral," Enjolras says, shrugging Grantaire's hand away. "That is when we will make a stand. Join us, if you will, but know that if you try and stop us, I will not allow it."

Grantaire pulls his hand to his side and laughs, quiet and hollow. "Yes, of course."

He's present at the following meetings, as they finalise the details of their revolution. Grantaire doesn't think of it as anything less, hates to think of it as anything more, even though he is certain that it will become a much bigger fight. He holds his silence, though is expression clearly shows just how much he doubts that this is going to work. 

Then, the night before Lamarque's funeral, Grantaire goes to find Liberté. He makes his way through the courtyard and towards the dragon clearing with a shuttered lantern, moving from a familiarity born from the years he's spent here, rather than using the lantern's light just in case he is caught out here.

Of all the dragons in the corps, Liberté is the largest and oldest, well-respected and intelligent. When Grantaire makes it to the dragon's clearing, his heart breaks to find Liberté chained down, head bowed with misery. Just as Grantaire had expected, the dragon is not asleep. He lifts his head, trying to see in the dark.

"It's me, Grantaire. Don't say anything or they'll know I'm here. Okay?" Grantaire opens the lantern a little, just enough that they can see each other. Liberté nods his large head once and Grantaire licks his lips and sighs. "I'm sorry about Admiral Lamarque. He was a great man and we all looked up to him."

Liberté makes a sorrowful sound at the back of his throat and Grantaire moves forward, placing his hand on the dragon's scaly muzzle.

"Whatever they told you, he wasn't _sick_ , you understand me? Not of any natural causes. Enjolras suspects that he was poisoned. Nobody grows weak and dies so quickly."

Liberté digs his claws into the ground before him, leaving deep furrows behind. Grantaire strokes his scales in apology.

"They didn't chain you down like this so they can put you into the breeding grounds, Liberté. You know what they're going to do to you."

Liberté growls at that, and Grantaire reaches into his cloak, pulling out the hammer he's hidden underneath. He knocks the metal stakes out of the ground but leaves the chains where they are.

"I need your help tomorrow, okay? Enjolras is going to do something stupid, in Lamarque's name. I need you to stay here so that nobody thinks that you're a threat. Then, when I sneak back here tomorrow morning, we're going to make sure Enjolras doesn't get himself killed, got it?"

Liberté pushes his muzzle into Grantaire's hand with so much force that it nearly knocks him over. The dragon nods and Grantaire grins, doing his best to look brave, instead of utterly terrified.

«·»

The air is full of chaos, thick with smoke, with the screams of men and the roars of dragons. Enjolras looks on in horror, the ground littered with the corpses of his closest friends, his brothers-in-arms. He can smell the sharp, coppery tang of dragon blood pouring from open wounds and his heart is in his throat, knowing that he is the one who started this. He is the one responsible.

"Riflemen, ready!" Combeferre yells from his position not far from Enjolras. "Fire!"

Patria hasn't been badly hurt just yet and Enjolras knows that he owes this fact to Combeferre, to Courfeyrac, to his riflemen for making sure that no dragon comes close enough to do any harm.

He knows that it also has a lot to do with Patria herself; Enjolras' dragon has a temper to match his own and as one of the handful of fire-breathers in the Armee de l'Air, she makes this a well-known fact. She is great and terrible, burning all those who come in her way. She knows they're losing, just as well as Enjolras does. She doesn't speak to him, because each breath she draws is devoted to gathering more flame. They're both all too aware of the fact that once she runs out, they're going to die.

Of the eight dragons and their crew that Enjolras talked into joining his rebellion, only he and Marius are left alive, their crews mostly intact. Those of their crew who chose to join them, anyway. Enjolras had given all of them the choice of whether or not to stand with him. Grantaire is not the only one who chose not to, so Enjolras doesn't understand why it is his absence in particular that bothers him so greatly.

Strange, that he should be looking Death in the eye and having his thoughts centred on a drunk cynic who never believed a word that came from Enjolras' mouth.

" _Enjolras_ ," Patria croaks, and he knows what that means.

"We've done all that we could, my dear," he murmurs, stroking her neck. "Thank you."

The problem with fighting dragons they once flew and fought with is that they all know each other far too well. Marius' dragon Max is fighting bravely, his hooked tail lashing about, but the others know to stay well out of range.

Enjolras looks at Combeferre, who nods grimly at him, then turns to Courfeyrac. They reach out in unison, tightly clasping each other's hands. Enjolras draws a deep breath, dragging his gaze away from his best friends. If he's going to die, he will do so looking his enemies in the eye.

It had started off peacefully. As had been decided beforehand, they were not going to attack. They were simply there to show that they knew what had really happened to Lamarque, that they were not happy with it, and that they would not stand for Lamarque being replaced by a new Grand Admiral who did not care for the dragons and crews under their command. 

Unfortunately for them, it had been too late. Admiral Phillipe had already taken command and he was prepared for them. The fighting had broken out almost immediately, with Phillipe taking to the air first on Charon, his Chanson-de-Guerre, calling them traitors, accusing _them_ of besmirching Lamarque's honour.

Enjolras knows the men and women on the dragons before him. He grew up with most of them. He's served—if only just briefly—on most of these dragons. In their eyes, he is the traitor; he is the enemy. His failure is not that he is going to die, it's that he is going to die before he can make them understand how they are being used and betrayed by the powers they trust.

The dragon in front of Patria sends out a message in flags; _prepare to be boarded_. They're going to take Enjolras and Marius prisoner, ensuring the cooperation of their dragons. Their entire crews will most likely be publicly executed for treason.

"The moment they even _try_ to board us," Bahorel speaks up, loading his rifle with more gunpowder, "we'll kill them."

Enjolras nods, reaching for the pistol at his belt. "None of us will give up without a fight."

"We'll show them what we're worth," Combeferre speaks up.

"For all our friends!" Courfeyrac adds.

But before the other dragons can even fly closer to attempt to board, a thunderous roar fills the air. Everyone freezes—every person and every dragon too—as they recognise the roar.

Liberté rises into the air, his large wings beating as he approaches them, roaring once again. He sounds furious as and he flies towards them, he does not slow down.

Liberté is the oldest dragon in the aerial army by a handful of decades, at the very least. He's over a century old and Admiral Lamarque had been his third captain. All the respect and admiration Lamarque had earned in his life had been given to his dragon as well.

What Enjolras doesn't understand is how Liberté is here now when it's common knowledge that he'd been chained down in his clearing to keep him from harming himself in his grief. It's not unheard of for dragons to go mad with grief, to turn feral and refuse to take another captain, or to even associate with humans again. Enjolras doesn't want to believe that this is the case, but when Liberté charges down a Chanson-de-Guerre with claws outstretched and jaw open to bite, he doesn't know what else to think.

There is a pack of three dragons circling around Max, an Honneur-d'Or and two Pascal's Blues. Liberté charges at them too, forcing them to fall back.

"Stop this at once!" Liberté's deep voice booms through the air. "There is no reason for further bloodshed!"

"Your captain was a traitor, and you defend those who commit treason in his name!" replies one of the Flammes-de-Gloire, and Enjolras is glad that he knows that like Patria, the other dragon is also out of flame. He can feel Patria regaining her breath, however, and he knows that the diplomacy Liberté is attempting will only last for so long.

"Bring us closer to Liberté on our next round," Enjolras instructs quietly. "Be ready to defend him if you must but more importantly, I want to check something…"

He doesn't see the usual harness on the large dragon, but he's certain he can glimpse a hint of belly rigging, which means _someone_ is working with him. Patria beats her wings once and Enjolras sees it; Liberté's harness is smaller than the one he typically wears. Which means that he must have a small crew. Which still doesn't make any sense.

Enjolras' confusion deepens as he looks through his spyglass, counting only one man standing at the base of Liberté's neck, clutching the leather harness for dear life, looking utterly terrified.

" _Grantaire_?" Enjolras mutters under his breath, but then he doesn't have the time to think about it any further because the Flamme-de-Gloires on the other side have regained their fire-breath while Patria is yet to recover hers.

Liberté moves directly in the way, blocking Patria with his bulk and Enjolras swears under his breath. He's not going to allow another dragon to take damage for his sake.

"Patria…" he doesn't know what to do. There is only so much he can ask of anyone, and he is reluctant enough to put his dragon in harm's way. Then he realises that Grantaire, on Liberté's back, has flags in his hands, sending them a message to flee. Enjolras doesn't even bother responding to that, and Grantaire spells a curse word out at him before putting his flags down. He must be speaking to Liberté, if the dragon's slightly cocked head is any indication. As pugnacious as the Flamme-de-Gloires may be, their captains are still reluctant to attack Liberté. Enjolras doesn't want to rely on this reluctance but right now, it's the only reason they're still alive.

Impatient, one of the Flammes-de-Gloire spits out a small spark of fire. It doesn't go very far, but it's enough of an indication that their time is running short.

"Enjolras, if we don't move, Patria will get herself hurt," Combeferre's voice is quiet but urgent. When Enjolras looks over, Combeferre is still holding Courfeyrac's hand but neither of them look resigned to their fates any more. "Or Liberté will take the damage for her, and I know you will feel even worse about that."

Then, Liberté lets out a loud roar, asserting his dominance. The other dragons respond immediately; even the other heavyweights quail and fall back, ignoring their captains' commands.

Enjolras doesn't understand what Grantaire and Liberté are planning, and he's half-afraid to find out.

"We do not need to fight about this," Liberté says. "We do not need further bloodshed when we are trying to _stop_ becoming involved in pointless fighting. Look around you, at the lives that have already been lost because of our stubborn refusal to listen to each other. Stop this."

None of the dragons move until Liberté lands on the ground first. Enjolras watches carefully, in case any of the other dragons tries to take the opportunity to attack, but none do. One after another, they all land in the courtyard, among the fallen bodies of the other dragons. 

Enjolras can see the bodies of aviators, crushed under their dragons, twisted in their harnesses, and averts his eyes. He is the cause of all of this. It's his fault.

"Take the captains into custody," Admiral Phillipe says, but Liberté places a giant foot in his way, neck craned to look down at him. 

"No. Anything to be said can be said here. In front of the dragons."

"The dragons have no standing! This is our legal system. We are the ones who will decide how to punish the traitors."

Liberté responds with an amused sound before he looms over Phillipe. "I do not think that you want to test me."

"Careful how you speak to my captain," snaps Charon, from where she stands behind Phillipe.

"It is not my intention to offend anybody," Liberté replies calmly, taking half a step back. "But if your captain was poisoned and killed by those he called friends, I doubt that you would be feeling particularly kind either. You, Lumiere, said that my captain was a traitor. I was not aware that he had publicly been accused as such. Is this what the rest of you have been told?"

The dragons mutter among each other and Liberté hums, satisfied. "That is what I thought. You have been told whatever suits your captains to tell you, so that you will do as you are told. Surely I am not the only one who finds this alarming."

The muttering becomes louder. Enjolras can hear Bahorel chuckle quietly but he remains blank-faced himself, still too tense and too unsure of what will happen.

"All right," Phillipe says, so calmly that Enjolras immediately begins to worry. "All is forgiven. We will stop fighting, and we will welcome these dragons and their captains back into our fold. I can only hope that they will be able to make up for all the lives that have been lost today, and all the damage that has been done."

Liberté, unable to argue with that, simply nods.

"Return to your clearings. Captains, take your crews back inside. Just as before, you will all be given the day off duty in honour of Admiral Lamarque's funeral. What little honour remains, anyway. Meanwhile, I will be meeting with the rest of the council to see if we can come up with a mission for you that will help you back into our good graces. You had such a wonderful reputation, Captain Enjolras. It will be such a pity to see you lose it now."

With that, they are marched back inside. They might still be alive and breathing, but it certainly doesn't feel like a victory.

«·»

"What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?" Enjolras shouts, shaking Grantaire. "What made you think that this was a good idea?"

"I am not going to apologise for not wanting to see you die!" Grantaire snaps in return, his fingers wrapped around Enjolras' wrists.

Combeferre sighs heavily, exchanging glances with Courfeyrac. Enjolras has been angry since coming inside and what little of it is not directed at himself has been directed at Grantaire instead. 

"And what were you doing on Liberté? Do you presume to become his next captain now that Lamarque is dead? Because I cannot think of anybody more ill-suited to captaincy than you."

" _I_ am not the one who led his friends and comrades to their deaths," Grantaire spits, and Enjolras flinches at that. Grantaire sighs, plainly looking guilty for saying it. "That was unfair of me. It was not your doing."

Enjolras opens his mouth to argue, but Combeferre cuts in when he sees the opportunity. "Phillipe said that the council would find a mission for us to make up for our actions today. What did he mean by that?"

"It means we are going to be sent off to die," Grantaire replies, "while they make it seem like our deaths were entirely accidental. If the missions Patria was being sent on before were bad, it will be nothing compared to whatever it is that they come up with now. It's clever, really. They're not going to bother killing us when they can just send us off to die at the hands of someone else instead. If they were being truly cunning, they'd send us somewhere that they want to start a fight. They'd have us killed, and have an excuse to go in with all the formations they have at their disposal while they're at it, crying revenge."

"Well, that makes me feel much better," Courfeyrac mutters, and Combeferre places a hand on his shoulder, unsure of how much comfort he can actually provide, considering their circumstances. "I suppose all that's left to do is wait for Phillipe to decide where he's sending us, so that we know how we're going to die."

"We are _not_ going to die," Enjolras mutters, folding his arms across his chest. "I will thank you to not give up hope quite so easily. Let them try to send us away, if that is what they want to do. Let them send us into the most deadly scenario that they can disguise as an innocuous mission. We will show them what we are capable of. We will survive."

Grantaire sighs heavily, shaking his head. "Your blind optimism is exhausting just to listen to. I can't imagine how much worse it would be to actually try and believe it."

"I have given you every opportunity to leave, if that is what you desire. Instead, you have only managed to make things more complicated. If you did not want to take any part in this, if you did not want to fight against what is happening, you never would have gone to Liberté. You never would have freed him. You never would have flown him into the middle of a fight where you both could have gotten yourselves killed."

Combeferre knows Enjolras well enough to understand what he is trying to say, and he is certain that Grantaire does as well. He's not so sure that Enjolras realises himself, however, so he translates, "Without you and Liberté intervening, Grantaire, we would already be dead."

Grantaire lips curve into a strained smile and his gaze does not leave Enjolras. "Couldn't have that, now."

Enjolras, stubborn as he is, does not thank Grantaire. He looks away and says, "I suppose we will receive our orders soon enough."

They are made to wait for hours. They eat lunch crowded around one table in the mess hall, both Enjolras and Marius sitting apart from the other captains, who are reluctant to so much as acknowledge their presence. They might be safe for now, but it's painfully clear that the base is very clearly divided.

There's a mass burial of the dead from the battle, but Enjolras and Marius are not permitted to attend, and neither are their crews. They remain sitting in the mess hall while the others go outside, heads bowed. 

Enjolras is taking this the worst out of all of them. He doesn't listen to the multiple assurances that this isn't his fault, no matter who tries to tell him. He doesn't take notice of Grantaire watching him throughout the day, desperate to say something but unsure of what, and doubly unsure if it will be welcome.

Finally, Phillipe calls for Enjolras and Marius—and Grantaire, to the surprise of them all, none more surprised than Grantaire himself. The three of them follow Phillipe to Lamarque's old office and Combeferre cannot help but notice how unsure and out of place Grantaire looks, walking alongside the captains.

"They won't give Liberté to Grantaire…" Courfeyrac says uncertainly. "Will they? Can they? Would Liberté even accept him as a captain?"

Combeferre shakes his head, equally confused. "Had you asked me that before today, I would have immediately told you that you were being ridiculous. Now, I am not quite so certain. The fact that Liberté worked with him at all must mean _something_."

"Whatever it means," Courfeyrac comments, "Enjolras isn't going to like it at all."

"No. I don't imagine that he will."

It doesn't take long before the three of them return. Enjolras looks absolutely furious, and Grantaire looks shellshocked. That is all Combeferre needs to know to brace himself for what is to come.

"I cannot believe it," Enjolras mutters, shaking his head.

"What, you think that _I'm_ happy with it?" Grantaire asks, frowning deeply. He runs a hand through his hair. "I need to go and speak with Liberté."

"This is ridiculous," Enjolras says, his words directed at Combeferre and Courfeyrac this time. "You would think that it's bad enough that we are being sent on a mission that we aren't expected to survive, but Phillipe has decided that Liberté is coming with us. He has assigned Grantaire to _Liberté_ , as if that decision is his to make. As if Liberté will accept Grantaire as a replacement for Lamarque."

"They are sending Liberté to what they hope will be his death?" Combeferre asks, raising an eyebrow. It makes sense, in a terrible way. It is clear enough that killing Lamarque has not managed to silence the dissent, just as it is equally clear that Lamarque shares his views and still commands far too much respect from the other dragons to be left alive and unattended. It is all so cowardly and underhanded that Combeferre wants to shout with frustration.

"So will it just be Grantaire alone on Liberté?" Courfeyrac asks. "Just like it was this morning?"

Enjolras shakes his head. "They are cobbling together a makeshift crew out of the other aviators that joined us in our rebellion but did not die with their dragons. Ground crews with very little flying experience, and the incredibly lucky few that survived when their dragons fell. They have found a way to quickly rid themselves of anyone that could be seen as a potential threat, and they have put Grantaire in charge of them."

"Perhaps he will not be so bad," Combeferre says with a shrug, ignoring the way Enjolras glares at him. "Liberté worked with him once and they saved all of our lives. Who knows, perhaps they will make a good team. Perhaps Liberté sees something in Grantaire that the rest of us cannot, because he does his best to keep it hidden. Perhaps he will surprise you, Enjolras."

Enjolras snorts quietly, which says enough about what he thinks. Combeferre knows better than to argue; Enjolras will not believe it until he has seen the proof with his own eyes anyway.

He looks to Marius, who is watching him expectantly, and they make a wordless agreement to wait until Grantaire has returned before they speak of their mission. It's difficult to wait, instead of pressing for answers immediately, but Grantaire soon returns, his shoulders slumped as if they carry the burden of his new responsibility. There are aviators with him, each and every one of them looking absolutely terrified. They follow him to the table to join the others, finding spare seats or just standing with their arms folded across their chests.

Grantaire looks at Enjolras and Marius, licking his lips and clearing his throat. "Before we start discussing anything else, I want to say this. I am not Liberté's captain, nor do I intend to make myself out to be anything resembling a captain. I have spoken to him and he knows what we are doing just as well as the rest of us, if not better. He has seen dragons and their crews being sent out to die before. He hasn't seen them return."

"Grantaire—" Enjolras begins, but Grantaite raises a hand in his direction.

"Let me speak. There is no point in denying what will happen to us." Grantaire looks at the rest of the aviators; his friends, his crew mates, his new crew. "Liberté will work with me. I am not asking him to take me as a captain and he has worked with enough captains, gone through enough battles to know what he is doing. In comparison, I am little more than an ant upon his back. He will fly with us and he will use his experience to guide us. If you want to believe that this gives us more of a chance of making it back alive, I will not stop you."

With that, Grantaire defers to Enjolras and stands back with his arms folded across his chest. Enjolras steps forward and gets straight to business.

"We are being sent to Russia. It will be a so-called diplomatic visit, but our relationship with Russia is shaky enough that they will see a three-dragon formation of two heavyweights and one fire-breather and seek to neutralise the threat we pose to them before they even think of listening to what we might have to say." Enjolras looks to Combeferre, holding his gaze as he continues, "It is a stupid mission, to deliver an unimportant message, but I do not suppose that the message is what matters here."

Grantaire snorts loudly, shaking his head. "I disagree. The message—a question about the Russians' dragon breeding program—is just inane enough to spark their irritation after all the trouble they've gone to in order to capture us. If anything, it's only going to make them more likely to kill us and be done with it."

"You aren't helping at all," Bahorel speaks up, his tone light enough to make it clear that he doesn't blame Grantaire for it.

"No, I was _trying_ to help before," Grantaire says, looking at Enjolras. "Trying to stop any of this from happening at all. Look at where that got us."

Enjolras glowers at Grantaire and sensing the tension between them, Marius clears his throat. 

"We will be flying to Chaudes-Aigues first and from there, we will by flying east. We will rest our dragons as we go, but the plan is to be in Russia before the end of the week. We already have our flight paths mapped out. It should not be a difficult journey, aside from our destination itself."

"Chaudes-Aigues," Coufeyrac groans. "Of all the places, and all the people we are forced to deal with before being sent away… they really are trying to make this as unpleasant as possible, aren't they?"

That brings a smile to some of their faces, and Combeferre squeezes Courfeyrac's shoulder in thanks.

"We will fly to Chaudes-Aigues tonight and rest there, before we begin flying east tomorrow morning," Marius tells them. "That gives you all an hour to pack what you need. Take only what is necessary. The lighter we travel, the better. We will all meet in the courtyard in an hour's time to load our dragons and leave."

With that, they all part ways. Courfeyrac leads the way to their room and Combeferre follows, shutting the door behind them. The moment the door clicks shut, Courfeyrac is in his arms, holding him tightly. Combeferre presses a light kiss into Courfeyrac's hair, remaining silent instead of offering hollow words of comfort.

"I'm terrified," Courfeyrac admits against Combeferre's neck.

Holding him even tighter, Combeferre tilts Courfeyrac's face up to kiss him, passionate and honest; the way they always are with each other. "So am I."

«·»

It feels strange to be flying on a dragon that isn't Patria after serving as part of her crew for such a long time. Grantaire might have been on Liberté's back when they'd put an end to the revolution, but that hadn't quite felt as if it was real.

Being here now, with Liberté properly rigged up for a full crew and ready to fly, feels entirely different. Standing where he is, at the base of Liberté's neck, in front of the rest of the crew, Grantaire begins to feel nervous.

It's the dream of many aviators to someday be a captain of their own dragon, but it is not in Grantaire's nature to aspire to such lofty goals. He'd been happy with his normal role, serving as one part of a larger crew. The pressure and the responsibility of captaincy has never appealed to him and he wonders if Phillipe is aware of this fact, if his newly appointed role at the head of Liberté's makeshift crew is some strange kind of punishment.

Judging by the way Enjolras keeps looking at him, he clearly doesn't think that Grantaire is worthy of the role. Grantaire doesn't blame him. If anything, he agrees with Enjolras. He has no idea what he's doing and while he knows that he can rely on Liberté for guidance, it still serves to remind him of the fact that he is completely out of his depth.

Patria is the first to take flight, then Max and Liberté. With just the three of them in non-hostile skies, they fly in a loose formation with Patria at the front and both of the heavyweights flying behind her. Grantaire is more than happy to let Enjolras and his dragon lead; he can only imagine how badly Enjolras would react if Liberté was the one in front.

As unpleasant as it might be, Grantaire does not mind being the target of all of Enjolras' anger and bitterness. There is no way of guaranteeing that he is the _only_ recipient of it but as far as Grantaire is concerned, the more of that anger Enjolras sends in his direction, the less Enjolras will have to direct at himself instead. He knows just how passionate Enjolras can be, at the best of times and at the worst. Enjolras can be inspiring, filled with courage and a genuine desire for change, for a better world. He can also be cruel and unforgiving when things fail to live up to his expectations. He genuinely cares for all of his friends and Grantaire has never doubted that once. He has been the subject of Enjolras' scorn before, just as he has fought with everything he has not to be roused into action by one of Enjolras' speeches. He knows the intensity of emotion that Enjolras is capable of, and he knows that whatever Enjolras directs at himself will be far stronger, and much worse than anything that he has experienced, even when Enjolras was in the blackest of moods.

Grantaire is somewhat comforted by the fact that Enjolras has Combeferre and Courfeyrac with him. They both know him well enough to know which dark paths his mind will wander down if he is not kept busy with more pleasant thoughts. Grantaire cannot imagine _which_ pleasant thoughts they might seek to distract Enjolras with and for the first time since the meeting in Phillipe's new office, Grantaire is glad that he is with Liberté, instead of being in his usual place on Patria's back.

The flight to Chaudes-Aigues is not a very difficult one and it is made much easier than their previous trip just a few days ago by the fact that they do not need to make any stops along the way this time. Still, it is long enough that it makes Grantaire wish for company that he is used to and enjoys.

He'd asked Enjolras if it would be at all permissible to take Bahorel as a first lieutenant, when he'd first been told that he was to captain Liberté. Enjolras had not even replied at the time, but the look he'd given Grantaire had been enough to tell him that it would be an incredibly unwise decision to even try and ask again. So instead, Grantaire tries to make small-talk with his inexperienced crew in an attempt to make them look a little less terrified. By the time Chaudes-Aigues comes into sight, a few of Grantaire's midwingmen have cracked smiles, and he decides to count that as a victory.

Of course, when they land to find that Javert is already in the courtyard waiting for them, all traces of their good mood immediately vanish.

"Traitors," Javert spits as he walks towards Enjorlas. "You belong in a cell somewhere, locked out of sight, instead of being treated like welcome guests here. If you think that I have any intention of going out of my way to be hospitable to you…"

"That will not be necessary," Enjolras says evenly, holding his hands up placatingly.

"You would do well to remember that I am only doing this because I have been ordered to—"

"You have made your point," Enjolras interrupts, keeping his head held high. "You have made it abundantly clear. Thank you."

Javert shakes his head with disgust. "All the deaths that your actions have caused…" 

"Yes, thank you for your wonderful welcome," Grantaire speaks up while Combeferre and Courfeyrac both place a hand on Enjolras' shoulders, giving him support, holding him back, or perhaps doing both at once. "That is quite enough, Captain Javert. If you have no desire to waste your time and resources on us, then we will happily take care of ourselves and keep out of your way entirely. How does that sound?"

Javert frowns at him, recognising him but being unable to place him in his captain's coat. "Who are you?"

"This," Liberté speaks up, his voice deep and foreceful, "is my captain, Grantaire. I would strongly suggest that you treat him well."

Grantaire is not _actually _Liberté's captain; they've both agreed that they are simply working together for this, but they have also agreed that neither of them have a problem with claiming otherwise when it means that it will make things easier for them.__

__Javert hesitates for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether he wants to offend Liberté, knowing the influence he still has on most other dragons in the Armee de l'Air. In the end, he gives up, turning away with a quiet, derisive snort. In any other situation, Grantaire would still want to challenge him just for the sake of annoying him. With Javert, Grantaire has the feeling that he's better off taking what little he can get._ _

__"Okay," Marius says quietly, rocking back on his heels once Javert walks away. "No need to unpack everything we have, as we won't be here for very long."_ _

__"If anything," Grantaire says, "I'd be helping myself to anything I think they can spare."_ _

__Enjolras turns to him but instead of looking angry or even irritated, he just looks tired. "Please, Grantaire. Don't cause any more trouble than it's worth."_ _

__"Why not?" Grantaire mutters. "What more can they do to us now, really?"_ _

__He'd said it to provoke Enjolras into anger—something he'd done out of habit rather than anything else—but he's surprised when Enjolras laughs quietly. It's not a happy sound; it sounds hollow and perhaps that's even worse than actually being yelled at._ _

__"Yes. I suppose that you are right."_ _

__Grantaire manages a small, stunned smile in reply. Enjolras clears his throat, looking away and setting about undoing Patria's belly rigging._ _

__"Liberté, you'll find some space in the clearing for the three of you, won't you?" Grantaire asks once they've unpacked what they need from the dragons. Grantaire reaches out to pat one of Liberté's large feet. "It would be best for my peace of mind if the three of you stuck together. I doubt that the dragons here would try anything but it's best to be safe."_ _

__Liberté nods, leading the way to the dragon clearings. Grantaire smiles at the way Liberté keeps a watchful eye on the two younger dragons, making sure that neither of them stray too far from him. None of the aviators seem particularly keen on wandering through the grounds, slowly shuffling towards their sleeping quarters in a large group._ _

__"I really don't like Javert," Bahorel speaks up, walking over to stand beside Grantaire. "At all."_ _

__Grantaire hums in agreement. He would point out that they're leaving early the next morning, but he doubts that this will be any source of comfort._ _

__"Javert was not always this bad," Enjolras murmurs, frowning in thought. "Or so I have heard. This was before our time, but I heard that an egg was once stolen from where it was incubating in the springs, when he was newly put in charge of this place. He was always incredibly strict, but he became much worse after that."_ _

__"That doesn't excuse him," Grantaire replies, shaking his head. "He has no right to speak to you like that."_ _

__Enjolras sighs quietly and shrugs. "Why not? Everything that he has said to me is true."_ _

__"Enjolras…" Grantaire slows down, so that the two of them fall behind the rest of the group. He reaches for Enjolras' hand but thinks better of it, balling his hand into a fist and keeping it by his side. "You must know that none of this was your fault."_ _

__"I started it," Enjolras snaps, his brows drawing together. "And then I lost control of everything and it spiralled into… this disaster that I have dragged everybody else into. Just like you predicted would happen. Tell me, Grantaire, does it feel good to be right? You knew that this was going to happen. You knew all along that this was the only way it was going to end and there I was, criticising you for being so negative."_ _

__"Do you _think_ that it feels good to be right about this?" Grantaire asks, struggling to hold back his own anger. "Damn it, Enjolras, I expect the worst of every situation because at least that way, I'm not disappointed by reality. Do not think for one moment that it's because I _want_ the worst to actually happen."_ _

__Enjolras falls silent at that, looking down at the ground. "Of course. Sorry."_ _

__Grantaire laughs, and this time he places a hand on Enjolras' back. "You don't need to apologise to me. Just please stop beating yourself up over things that are out of your control."_ _

__"But it's—"_ _

__"Shh," Grantaire interrupts, and shakes his head. "Rest. Relax while you can. I'm going to go and find a way to offend Javert on as many levels as I possibly can."_ _

__This time, he manages to startle a genuine laugh out of Enjolras. "I should be discouraging you."_ _

__"As I said before," Grantaire shrugs, "we really can't get into any _more_ trouble. I have nothing to lose. I might as well enjoy myself however I can."_ _

__Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "That is almost optimistic of you."_ _

__Grantaire laughs. "I'm not so sure of that, but I _am_ full of surprises."_ _

__"Yes," Enjolras says softly. "I suppose that I am beginning to learn that for myself."_ _

__Grantaire wants to ask Enjolras the meaning behind the thoughtful look that he is being given, but they have reached the doorway of the sleeping quarters, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac are standing just inside the doorway, waiting for Enjolras. Grantaire parts ways with him, content that he is in a better mood than before, and goes to search for Bahorel, a plan already beginning to form at the back of his mind._ _

__Bahorel is waiting for him, clearly thinking on a similar level to Grantaire. He grins, his arms folded across his chest as he leans against the wall. "You look like you have an idea."_ _

__"I do," Grantaire replies, taking his jacket off and leaving it in the room that Bahorel has claimed for them. "Do you feel like a walk in the underground springs? Just to have a look around."_ _

__Bahorel laughs quietly. "It sounds to me as though we've had the exact same idea."_ _

__"That would not surprise me in the least," Grantaire says to him. He waits until they've left the building and are making their way to the entrance of the springs to say, "Enjolras says that Javert took it badly enough when one egg was stolen from under his nose. I wonder how he would react if he were to lose _three_."_ _

__"Three?" Bahorel lets out a low whistle. "How are we going to manage that? And how do you think we'll get away with it?"_ _

__One of Grantaire's favourite things about Bahorel is that when they want to do something, it's never a question of whether they will do it, just _how_ they're going to do it. _ _

__"That's why we're going there now," he explains. "So we can have a look around and come up with a proper plan. The best time would be tomorrow morning, before we leave. I don't know how long it will take for Javert to notice that the eggs have gone missing, so the sooner we can leave, the better."_ _

__The underground springs are large, stretching out beneath the entirety of the grounds. There are gaps for the steam to escape throughout, but it's dark outside so the small glimpses of the starry sky do not help to help them reorient themselves. There are more eggs than they can count, and Grantaire wonders if anyone will even notice three of them going missing. They're sorted into groups based on their age, and how soon they will hatch. The newer eggs, whose shells are still too soft to be handled, are carefully nestled deeper in the springs, where they get the most heat. The older eggs with harder shells are stored carefully on shelves along the walls, and Grantaire comes across a small cluster of Fleur-de-Nuit eggs._ _

__"Look at these shells," he whispers, taking a closer look. The eggs are the usual deep blue that is characteristic of the Fleur-de-Neuit, but in the lantern light of the springs, Grantaire can pick out other colours on the shells as well, dark enough that they almost blend in. "These aren't just the normal Fleur-de-Nuit eggs."_ _

__"The hybrid program." Bahorel's tone is filled with wonder. Hybrid Fleur-de-Nuits, cross-bred with other dragons so that their eyes are less sensitive to light while still retaining their night vision, have flown in the Armee de l'Air since Napoleon's rule, but they'd been rare back then. There are five eggs together here, and Grantaire can see another group a little further inside the springs._ _

__Two of these hybrid eggs, Grantaire thinks to himself, and the Flamme-de-Gloire egg he'd noticed earlier. He has a small chest of clothes that can be folded properly to make enough room to carry the eggs, and coats to keep them swaddled in. Three eggs should be enough. As much as he likes the thought of doing this for the sole purpose of upsetting Javert, there is a much more important reason behind it; if they're being sent off to their deaths, then the least Grantaire can do is steal a few bargaining chips that will increase their chances of remaining alive long enough to return._ _

____

«·»

Jehan's mind is a mess of thoughts and he has no idea where to even begin to attempt to unravel them. It feels strange, to be on Max's back, away from the chaos that is Enjolras and Grantaire, aware of what is happening but far enough removed from it that it does not feel quite so immediate.

Grantaire and Bahorel had shown up to the courtyard that morning before they were all leaving, wearing matching smug grins while Grantaire held his wooden trunk close to his chest. Enjolras had immediately picked up that something was wrong; he'd already been on alert since Javert had failed to show up to see them off, even if nobody was particularly upset about that. Grantaire had been only too happy to open the chest and show off the three eggs that he and Bahorel had stolen from the hot springs. Javert was not here because he was lying somewhere in the hot springs, after Bahorel had punched him in the face, leaving him unconscious. Enjolras had been about to yell, but Grantaire had made the suggestion to leave as soon as possible, before Javert had the chance to wake up and stop them. 

Now, the eggs are safely tucked into Liberté's belly rigging, where they are being kept safe as they all fly. Enjolras is not happy with Grantaire, but that's hardly new. Enjolras is not particularly happy with Bahorel either, but Jehan has been trying all morning not to think of Bahorel. So far, he has been failing spectacularly.

He can still remember the feeling of Bahorel's hands on his hips, pinning him down to the bed beneath them. He can remember the gentle kisses, and he can still feel the bite marks Bahorel had left on his shoulders, on his neck, where it's hidden beneath his neckerchief. He'd liked the way Bahorel had been gentle with him, but he'd liked it even better when Bahorel was rough and claiming, so that Jehan would be reminded of it all the next morning.

It's the second morning in a row that Jehan has woken up in Bahorel's bed instead of his own. The first time, he'd woken assuming that it was a one-time thing that Bahorel had no intention of repeating. It had been the night before the revolution at Lamarque's funeral; Jehan hadn't questioned it at the time, too busy thinking about the fact that they could actually die and this would be their last chance to be together. He'd silently longed for Bahorel for years. He wasn't going to question the sudden attention.

He'd woken the first morning in Bahorel's arms, to his sleepy smile and warm kisses, and though it had been wonderful, Jehan couldn't help but feel that it wasn't quite right. He'd left soon after, not particularly keen on waiting for Bahorel to ask him to go. 

This morning, he'd woken up to find that he'd been tucked into an otherwise empty bed, and he'd assumed that Bahorel had left for the sake of not having to deal with him the morning after. Now that he knows that Bahorel had actually left to help Grantaire steal the dragon eggs, he isn't quite sure what to think. His mind unhelpfully insists on reminding him of the fact that despite the fact that Bahorel would have had to leave early that morning, he'd still taken the time to make sure that Jehan was tucked in properly.

Bahorel has always been a source of confusion to Jehan; he's loud and impulsive, quick to anger and pick fights, but he's also gentle, caring, and he gets under Jehan's skin like nobody else. He lingers in Jehan's mind for longer than he truly should, but that's nothing new to Jehan. He'd told himself to accept the first time as pure chance, and not to expect anything more. He's unsure if sleeping with Bahorel twice makes it a pattern, or if it's just because Bahorel knows that he'll be willing. 

"Jehan." Feuilly places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently.

"I'm sorry," Jehan says quickly, shaking his head. He'd shared a room with Feuilly back at the base in Paris and as a result, they've grown close enough that Feuilly is the only one he has ever spoken to about Bahorel. Feuilly had noticed that Jehan hadn't returned to their room the night before the revolution, and he'd noticed the same thing this morning in the room they'd shared at Chaudes-Aigues. "There are so many more important things that I should be concerning myself with at the moment."

"It's not that," Feuilly tells him gently. "It's just that there's only so much you can think about it without speaking to Bahorel about it."

"Why would I?" Jehan mutters, "So that I can hear it from his own mouth that I'm just thinking too hard about everything and it means absolutely nothing?" 

Feuilly sighs heavily. "You don't know that."

"What else can it be?" Jehan asks. "Why would he care, beyond that?" 

"Just talk to him." Feuilly says. "I'm not asking you to bare your feelings to him, but I think it would help you both if you understood each other's thoughts a little better."

Jehan frowns, turning to Feuilly. "Why is it so important to you? Do you know something, Feuilly?"

Feuilly shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak, but he is cut off by a loud growl. Everyone starts, turning their heads to Patria, who had made the sound. Liberté and Max both respond to the possible threat immediately and fall in so that all three of them are flying closer to each other. 

"What is it?" Marius asks, reaching for his spyglass and looking around. 

"There!" Eponine points at a streak of colour in the distance. 

"A Roi-de-Vitesse?" Marius sounds concerned. "It could be Javert, but it is coming from the wrong direction, and his dragon is a Chasseur-Vocifere."

Enjolras sends a message to both Marius and Grantaire: _Stand by. Prepare to attack if needed_. 

The lightweight flies towards them and living up to its name, it closes the distance between them in mere moments. There is a man sitting on the dragon's back, not dressed in the uniform of the Armee de l'Air, and from their proximity, they can hear Liberté telling Grantaire that he does not recognise this dragon.

Neither the dragon nor the captain threaten them, but they are dwarfed by all three other dragons; it would not be wise of them to engage. 

Liberté turns his head to the small dragon to speak with it, and after a short conversation, Grantaire sends a message to the others: _We are landing. Follow me._

The Roi-de-Vitesse leads the way, purposefully flying slower so that the others can keep up. Judging by the distance they've flown now, Jehan is sure that they are somewhere in Switzerland. They're lead to a large paddock, dotted with livestock and a small house at one end. The lightweight lands, and Liberté waits for Patria and Max before landing himself. 

"Grantaire—" Enjolras begins, his tone already angry. 

"Patience, Enjolras." Grantaire raises a hand in Enjolras' direction without looking at him. "I think that you will find this interesting."

Enjolras already has his mouth open to argue, but the captain of the Roi-de-Vitesse comes forward with a hand outstretched. "Captain Enjolras, I assume. My name is Valjean."

"Jean Valjean?" Enjolras asks, his eyes going wide. "The same Valjean who…"

"…Stole a Roi-de-Vitesse egg years ago and has managed to keep from being discovered by Javert," Grantaire finishes, sounding pleased.

"What are you doing here?" Marius asks. "You are still so close to France—are you not afraid that you will be caught?"

"I have managed to evade Javert for all this time," Valjean replies with a small smile. "Perhaps he does not think to look so close. Perhaps he does not have the time to search for me. From what I have heard about him, he is kept busy enough in Chaudes-Aigues. This is where I live, and it is my base of operations. I have managed to make a name for myself here as a courier between Switzerland and Prussia. They know that I am a neutral party, and they know me as Fauchelevent instead of my real name, to ensure that I am not found by those who wish to capture me."

Enjolras frowns. "And yet Liberté recognised you…" 

"Captain Grantaire did," Valjean corrects him, and Enjolras visibly twitches at that. "He knew that the egg that had been stolen was a Roi-de-Vitesse, so when Liberté could not place me or Brise, Grantaire realised I was not in an aviator's uniform and concluded who I was."

"Brise?" Enjolras asks.

"My dragon," Valjean replies. He looks behind him, to where Brise is happily chattering away to Liberté, Patria and Max. "Yours are the first French dragons that he has seen since he has hatched."

Jehan smiles as he watches the dragons. He knows that lightweights are much simpler dragons, mostly incapable of complex thought and only interested in flying and eating, but the others are patiently listening to him, occasionally replying as he pauses for breath.

"You are welcome to rest here for the night," Valjean says to them. "Grantaire has told me a little of where you are flying. I would like to hear more of your story."

Enjolras glares at Grantaire, but they all know that it's a good idea to rest while they can. They set up camp near Valjean's house, while the dragons catch some of the livestock in the paddock, settling down to eat. 

Valjean's daughter, Cosette, returns home from town just as they've finished setting up camp and takes the sudden appearance of three crews' worth of aviators in stride, offering to help them where she can while Valjean explains why they are here. She's roughly the same age as Eponine and they get along immediately, and Eponine introduces her to Musichetta. 

Cosette seems utterly thrilled to have people her age to talk to, and it makes Jehan wonder how solitary her life must have been, to live on the run with Valjean and spend days on her own when Valjean was out delivering messages.

Then, Eponine introduces Cosette to Marius, and Jehan can immediately sense the subtle change in dynamic. Marius looks up from where he is concentrating on his map and his expression immediately changes. He stares at Cosette with open wonder and while Jehan has _heard_ of love at first sight, he has never seen it happen like this. 

Cosette, for her part, looks equally captivated by Marius, and that's when Jehan notices the way that Eponine's shoulders begin to slump. 

"Marius!" Grantaire calls, waving him over to where he is standing with his first-born Lefévre, Valjean, Enjolras and Combeferre. "Eponine! Come here for a moment."

Musichetta places her hand on Cosette's shoulder, leading her away to sit down and talk while the captains and their lieutenants sit around a map and talk. They take no pains to be quiet about what they are discussing, so Jehan sits down beside Feuilly and listens, as most of the other aviators are doing.

Valjean is far more familiar with the flight routes through Prussia than any of them. He points out the places on their map that they are guaranteed untroubled passage, and the places that they do not want to fly through because it will be more trouble than it is worth. Enjolras marks all of these down, but eventually, Valjean just sighs and shakes his head.

"No, I cannot in good conscience leave you to fly on your own without a guide. I will fly with you, upon Brise, and show you the easiest way to go. It will be much easier that way."

"Only until we have reached Prussia and know where to go from there," Enjolras replies. "That is already much more than I can ask of you."

"You aren't _asking_ , boy, I'm offering." Valjean gets up and folds his arms across his chest. "I have been taking care of myself for years, you have no need to worry about me. Rest for now, and we will fly again tomorrow morning."

"Papa, I will come with you," Cosette speaks up. She glances at Marius before quickly looking away to meet her father's eyes. "Please. You always say that you will allow me to accompany you one day. What will be safer than flying with three other dragons?"

Valjean sighs, clearly unwilling to say no to her. Marius looks pleased by the prospect. Eponine looks pleased as well, but it's tinged by her reluctance to have to witness Marius and Cosette exploring their attraction to each other.

"I have space for her on my crew," Grantaire speaks up, before Marius can. Eponine gives him a grateful look. "Liberté is an experienced dragon. She will be safe with him."

Valjean nods, and it is decided. They spend the rest of their night relaxing, breaking off into groups to sit around small campfires and talk, sharing their food. 

Feuilly is sitting with Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta and Cosette. Jehan considers joining them, but then he sees Bahorel. They both stand there for a moment, watching each other, and Jehan gathers his courage, stepping forward. Bahorel does the same and they walk towards each other, holding each other's gaze. 

Then, suddenly, the doubt comes rushing back in full force and Jehan can't do this. He sees the same doubt flicker across Bahorel's face and they both turn away from each other, going their separate ways. 

Feuilly looks at him when he sits down, letting out a long-suffering sigh. Jehan is about to make a half-hearted excuse, but then they heard a loud smack and Bahorel yelps loudly, rubbing his arm and glaring at Grantaire. 

Their eyes meet, and Jehan can't help the way he smiles. Bahorel grins in return, and it makes Jehan's heart race with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's not simply imagining that there might be something between them after all.

«·»

Valjean makes a good guide, leading them through the safe zones without a problem. He is well-known in this area, which works to their advantage when they run into patrols here and there, who recognise Valjean and hold off from attacking for that reason alone.

There's a large field that Valjean often uses to rest Brise on his trips, so they set up camp there for the night, buying livestock from a local farm for their dragons to feed. Cosette looks happy as she climbs off Liberté running over to speak to Valjean before going to find Marius.

Enjolras sets up a fire to warm them and sits down in front of it, looking up as Valjean approaches.

"Thank you for bringing us this far." Enjolras shifts aside to make space for Valjean to sit. "I appreciate it. We all do."

Valjean nods, staring into the fire for a moment before clearing his throat. "I _was_ intending to just leave you here and turn back with Cosette, but that has changed now. I will come with you the entire way."

"No," Enjolras replies immediately, shaking his head. "I cannot allow that, Valjean. This isn't the kind of mission that we are meant to _survive_. It is bad enough that I've dragged everyone else into this mess with me, I cannot allow you to put you and your daughter's lives at risk as well."

"Look," Valjean says, lifting his head to watch Cosette speaking to Marius. They're both smiling, completely lost in their own world. "Do you really think that even if I left, Cosette would go with me? She would want to stay here."

"Valjean," Enjolras' tone is firm. "We are flying to our deaths."

"Even more of a reason to stay with you, then," Valjean replies. "I will not force my daughter to leave against her will, and I cannot simply leave her behind. I will join you, and with Brise, I will do everything in my power to make it so that we all return alive."

Enjolras can see that there is no point in arguing this matter with Valjean. He simply nods instead, and smiles. "I am glad to have you with us."

Valjean pats Enjolras' shoulder and gets to his feet. "I am thankful that Grantaire is taking such care with Cosette. I have noticed that he has been making sure to teach her how to work as part of a large crew. He is a good captain."

Enjolras opens his mouth to correct Valjean; to tell him that in fact, Grantaire has never received the proper training to become a captain, and that he has never shown himself to be particularly suited to the role. Then he looks over to where Grantaire is standing by Liberté, having taken the chest of dragon eggs out to check on them.

Liberté is peering into the chest as well, and Grantaire takes the eggs out one by one, making sure they're all still carefully wrapped in cloth so that they're warm. Liberté checks on them all, letting out a pleased hum as he finds that they're in good condition. Grantaire packs the eggs away again but he leaves the chest by Liberté, who keeps an eye on them.

Some of Liberté's crew are still on his back, slow to unclip themselves from his harness and navigate their way back down. Grantaire climbs up after them, pointing out the strips of leather to connect themselves to as they work their way around Liberté's wings and to the ground. They look embarrassed and Enjolras cannot hear what Grantaire says from this distance, but it's enough to make them smile once again, immediately looking relieved. 

It's surprising to see Grantaire being kind and patient, not because Enjolras had never thought he was incapable of behaving this way, but because in all his experience of Grantaire, the man has made every effort to hide how naturally it comes to him.

Enjolras is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears Patria making a pleased sound. He looks up at her, to find that she is looking between him and Grantaire, an amused gleam to her eyes.

"What?"

She shakes her massive head, and goes back to watching Grantaire.

" _What_?" Enjolras asks, more impatiently this time.

"I think Grantaire makes a good captain," Patria confides, and her voice carries over to Grantaire, who stiffens and looks over his shoulder. "Do you not agree?"

Enjolras looks over, to where Grantaire is standing, watching him, waiting for any sign of an answer. Enjolras very carefully keeps his expression blank, until Grantaire gives up, shaking his head and walking away.

Patria snorts, steam coming out of her nostrils, and nudges Enjolras hard enough that he stumbles a few steps back. "That was rude. You could at least have nodded so that he would know that you appreciate what he is doing. That he is doing well. You do not need to worry that I will want him as _my_ captain."

"If you did, that _would_ be a problem," Enjolras mutters, but he strokes Patria's jaw in apology. "You are right, though. He does make a good captain. Strangely."

"I do not think that it is so strange," she tells him, and Enjolras isn't in the mood to argue with her about it.

Grantaire might be taking care of his crew, but that will count for nothing when they're in battle. It's bad enough that his crew is inexperienced, but an inexperienced crew working under an inexperienced captain in the rush of a battle will mean nothing but disaster. It doesn't matter how good a dragon Liberté may be.

Enjolras pulls his maps and papers out, his thoughts heavy with the prospect of the upcoming hardships, the certainty that they will have to fight for their lives—most probably in the literal sense. His thoughts are scattered, like markers on his map, trying to analyse several strategies at once, accounting for each individual variable, each possible outcome. There's only so much his mind can hold at a time and before it can overwhelm him, Combeferre sits down beside him, a hand on his shoulder, calming him down. Grounding him.

"Breathe, Enjolras. Talk to me. We'll write our ideas down and see what comes from them."

Combeferre would be a brilliant captain, and Enjolras can't help but feel that he's wasted as a first lieutenant. Then again, Enjolras doesn't want to imagine what it would be like to have to deal with any of this without Combeferre beside him, supporting him. Combeferre always knows when Enjolras needs him, always knows what to say and what to do.

They pick up their pens, joined by Courfeyrac, and write down all the information that they have about the Russian aerial forces, and where it is most likely that they will have to fight. They compare notes, moving the markers on their map, trying to work out the best flight route once they're past the Russian border. They're still quite some distance away, but the sooner they have something resembling a concrete plan, the better Enjolras will feel and he knows that the same applies to his friends. 

"Why the sudden need to work out how we're going to survive?" Courfeyrac asks, looking over at Enjolras. "Not that I doubt that this was your intention all along, but why now? Why the desperation?"

Enjolras looks over to where Marius and Cosette are sitting beside each other, both of them wearing shy smiles and avoiding each other's eyes even as they lean into each other to speak. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both follow his line of sight, and hum in understanding.

"They never would have met, if it weren't for me," Enjolras mutters. "If I hadn't pushed for a revolution, none of this would have happened and we would never have run into Valjean and his daughter. I cannot be the reason that they meet, and the reason they _die_ in just a matter of days. I owe it to them to find a solution to this that gives them the chance to live, to be happy with each other."

"You don't owe anybody anything," Combeferre tells him sternly. "Each and every person here made their own choice to stand with you. Remember, you gave them that choice. You allowed them to walk away, if that was what they wanted to do. They are here."

Enjolras manages a small smile at that, and nods in appreciation. "I suppose you are right."

"Now," Courfeyrac says, "I think we should put our maps away for the rest of the night, and try our best to relax."

Enjolras doesn't protest as Combeferre gently pulls the papers from his hands, folding them away and tucking them into their oilskin pouches. The dragons have all curled up in a heap, lying on top of Liberté, who is curled protectively around the chest of eggs. There is a large, central fire that most of the aviators are sitting around together, but there are smaller fires with groups of people seated around them, like Enjolras with his two closest friends. He sees Grantaire sitting with Bahorel, Feuilly, Jehan, Joly and Bossuet, and he drags his gaze away, not quite sure why his mind insists on fixating on Grantaire. 

A few hours later, Enjolras wakes up from his dreamless sleep, frustrated at himself for the fact that Grantaire is lingering on his mind to the point that he's even imagining Grantaire's voice. As he sits up, he realises that he isn't just imagining it; he can hear Grantaire from outside the tent.

Pushing the canvas flaps aside just enough to poke his head outside, Enjolras blinks as his eyes adjust to the moonlit night. He turns to where the dragons are lying and sees Grantaire sitting with them, leaning back against Liberté, the chest of eggs beside him and empty, all three of the eggs carefully nestled in his lap, still swaddled.

He's singing to them, his voice carrying on the breeze, and Enjolras recognises the tune, awakening childhood memories that he barely has the time to dwell upon these days. It's a lullaby, made all that much more soothing by Grantaire's gentle, melodious voice. 

He belatedly realises that Patria is still half-awake, when her eye turns in his direction. He moves back into his tent and lies down, shutting his eyes and listening to Grantaire sing to the eggs, to the dragons, and lets the sound carry him off to sleep.

«·»

They cross the Polish border before the dragons need to rest and eat. Brise leads the way to a large farm just outside Warsaw; Valjean has already flown ahead to ask permission to land there. There is enough food for the dragons and even though it is only the middle of the day, it is unanimously decided that they will rest for the remainder of the day; it is not as though they are in any particular rush to reach their destination.

As they climb down from their dragons and set up their camp once again, Bahorel overhears Cosette asking, "Why are you going to Russia at all? I mean, if you are all expected to die there, why don't you just go… somewhere else? You could go to another country and live there, couldn't you?"

Bahorel looks over at Grantaire, curious to hear his answer. He notices Enjolras doing the same.

"Unfortunately for us, it's not really that simple." Grantaire shakes his head. "It's a matter of honour, because we know that we are doing the right thing. If we tried to run now, that would go against everything that we have done. It would make us look as though we are in the wrong, and it would take all the meaning from what we have done. We are not doing this for our own gain and we never were. Running to escape our death would only serve to discredit ourselves. It would not change anything. I am certain that there are people who would rather live without having made a difference than die proving something, but those people would not have joined the revolution. They would not have followed Enjolras, and I suppose that as far as I am concerned, it is their loss."

Bahorel glances over to Enjolras, who looks winded. His eyes are wide, his lips parted, and he takes a step forward. His voice is unusually quiet when he says, "Grantaire–"

"Grantaire," Jehan says, louder. He walks over to Grantaire looking harried, one hand on Feuilly's elbow. "I have heard more about the Polish revolution of 1722 than I ever thought was possible. It is fascinating, Feuilly, I _assure_ you. I just… Grantaire, help."

Grantaire laughs warmly, wrapping his arm around Feuilly's shoulders. "Come on, then. We'll see if we can go into town and look around while the sun is still up. What do you want to see first?"

Grantaire makes sure his crew are all set up and they know when to return to their camp before leading Feuilly away, glancing back over his shoulder to give Bahorel a pointed look.

Jehan is speaking with Cosette, giving her a bright smile as she walks away to join Marius. Bahorel has never had a problem speaking to him before; he certainly doesn't appreciate the fact that this seems to have changed.

"Bahorel." Jehan's smile is just as radiant when directed at him, but there's an uncertain look in his eyes. It disappears the moment Bahorel places a hand on his back, nothing more than a light touch, but contact all the same.

"Do you have plans for the afternoon?" Bahorel asks quietly.

"Nothing, really. If you wanted to go into town with Grantaire and Feuilly—"

"I wanted to spend the afternoon with you," Bahorel tells him. "If you don't mind."

"Of course not." Jehan smiles again, small and self-conscious. "I just worry that you might end up being bored."

They end up sitting some distance away from the rest of the camp, leaning back against a tree. Jehan has his journal and a pen with him, while Bahorel has a bottle of wine that he's stolen from Grantaire's stash, knowing that he'll be adding to it when he's in town anyway.

They pass the bottle back and forth and Bahorel is certain that they should be talking; about their nights together, about the way they feel, perhaps even about their imminent death, but he is content to doze, basking in the sun and in Jehan's company, their fingers brushing against each other, lingering for a few extra seconds every time they pass the bottle between them.

"What are you writing?" Bahorel finally asks, when the sky is beginning to turn orange, the sun beginning to sink towards the horizon.

"Poetry." Jehan places his pen down, capping it and putting it back into its small box, along with the small pot of ink. "I just finished."

"Will you read it to me?"

"It's probably not very interesting—"

"I'm asking you to, Jehan."

Bahorel keeps his eyes shut as Jehan recites, his words painting the story of their revolution, of Lamarque and Enjolras, of Grantaire and Liberté, of Phillipe and Javert. It's both crushing and triumphant, proud and uncertain. It's beautiful, and when Bahorel tells him so, Jehan ducks his head to hide his smile. 

"I mean it," Bahorel says, and that only makes Jehan blush, his fingers going to the braid that hangs over his shoulder, twining into the end. It's a sight that makes Bahorel groan at the back of his throat, leaning forward and tilting Jehan's chin up so that their lips meet. 

It's a chaste kiss and while it's definitely not their first, it feels unusual all the same. Most of the kisses they've shared recently have been deeper, desperate, trying to take as much of each other in as possible. This time, it's the brush of their lips against each other, wet with the faint taste of wine. They have time, here, away from everybody else. Not as much time as Bahorel would like, but that is because he wants far too much. 

Jehan pulls away with a pained sound, turning away. "Bahorel, please don't."

"Don't what?" He reaches out, but Jehan snatches his hand away.

"Don't tease me like this. Please." Jehan looks so sad that it pains Bahorel. He wants to make it all better and he knows that he _can't_ , but he wants to try anyway.

That, he realises, is what it all comes down to. He would do anything for Jehan, and it's not the same as how he would do anything for his friends. He would attempt the impossible for Jehan, if he had to, and there's one reason for that. It's something that Bahorel suspects he has known all along. 

He's in love with Jehan.

"What?" Jehan asks faintly, and Bahorel bites back a curse as he realises that he's just said that out loud. 

He doesn't back down. "I love you, Jehan. If I don't say it now, when else am I going to get the chance?"

Jehan shakes his head with disbelief. "But you… how… _why_?"

"Why?" Bahorel echoes and laughs quietly, though he knows better than to give into the urge to lean in for another kiss. "Do you really need to ask?"

"I'm quiet while you are loud, I'm gentle while you are rough, I write poetry while you start fights. Why would you love me?"

"Jehan," Bahorel says softly. He reaches for Jehan's hands, holding them gently, and rests their foreheads together. "You're quiet while I'm loud, you're gentle while I'm rough, you write poetry while I start fights. Why wouldn't I?"

"That is cheating," Jehan protests, but he's smiling now. He squeezes Bahorel's hands before letting go of them, wrapping his arms around Bahorel's shoulders instead. He pulls Bahorel closer and kisses him again. They don't pull apart for a long time, content to just lie there in each other's arms and kiss.

They return to the camp once the sun has mostly set, nothing but stray beams of light streaking across the sky. The camp fires are lit and Grantaire and Feuilly have returned from the city. True to Bahorel's expectations, Grantaire has an entire crate of wine bottles at his feet. There's another crate beside Feuilly, which is mostly empty from all the aviators that have helped themselves to bottles. Grantaire sees Bahorel and holds one up in offering. He raises an eyebrow as Bahorel walks closer, holding the bottle out of reach for a moment.

"Well, it's I suppose that answers my question of what you did while Feuilly and I were out." Grantaire gestures at his own lips and then looks pointedly at Jehan. "Good work, Bahorel. It only took you years of pining."

"What?" Jehan asks, and Bahorel snatches the bottle from Grantaire's hand. In the light of the fire, Jehan's lips look kiss-swollen, and Bahorel can only assume that his look the same. He offers the bottle to Jehan, who is unfortunately not one to be so easily distracted. "Years?"

"He's making it sound worse than it is," Bahorel mutters.

"Three years," Grantaire adds helpfully.

"Oh, as if you're in any position to talk," Bahorel grumbles. He rubs the back of his neck, and is startled by Jehan's delighted laugh.

"It's as if you think I _mind_ that you've been longing for this as much as I have," Jehan tells him, touching his arm. "I do wish we'd acted sooner, but that is my fault as much as it is yours, so let's just be glad that we've managed to do something about it at all."

Bahorel nods at that and when Jehan sits a little closer to him than normal when they settle down in front of a fire, he doesn't mind at all.

As the hour grows later, the wine makes most of them sleepy. Feuilly begs off to go to bed around the same time that most of the others do. Bahorel is content sitting where he is with Jehan, using the wine as an excuse to lean into each other. Grantaire leaves them be, getting up and walking over to where the dragons are beginning to pile together to sleep. 

"Look at Cosette and Marius," Brise chirps happily to Grantaire, closing his eyes blissfully as he patted. He nuzzles into Grantaire's side before climbing atop Patria, his tail waving in the air, clearly too excited to sleep. "They look so happy together! Do you think they are going to make an egg?"

Grantaire laughs at that, shaking his head. "Perhaps not. I'm fairly certain that Valjean would murder Marius, if that were to happen."

"I would like to see him try." Max rumbles, clearly unimpressed by the very suggestion. Grantaire rubs his snout in apology. 

"Why are you sitting here with us?" Patria asks. "Surely there is somebody else that you would prefer to be spending your time with?"

"Now, Patria," Liberté speaks up gently. "Grantaire is more than welcome to sit with us if that is what he chooses."

"That is not what I mean at all," Patria replies with an impatient flick of her tail. "It is only that he so plainly loves Enjolras. If Marius and Cosette can sit together with their arms around each other, then I do not see why Enjolras and Grantaire should not be doing the same."

Even from across the camp, the dragon's words are loud and clear enough to be heard by everyone present, and a sudden silence falls in their wake. Bahorel vaguely registers Marius pulling his arm away from where it was sitting around Cosette's waist, but everyone who is still awake turns to Grantaire, staring. 

"…Oh," Patria says in a small voice, and Grantaire turns, walking past the camp fires, past Bahorel, and past the tents.

Enjolras gets to his feet, making to follow him, but Bahorel stops him with a hand on his chest. 

"Bahorel," Enjolras' tone is frustrated. "I need to speak with him."

"And he won't want to speak with you," Bahorel replies quietly. "Not right at this moment. Give him time."

Enjolras looks as though he wants to argue, but he purses his lips together and nods instead. Bahorel glances over his shoulder, to where Grantaire had disappeared to. He knows that he shouldn't follow either, that Grantaire will return in his own time. He hopes he can figure out what to say to him in that time.

«·»

It's difficult to avoid Enjolras when Grantaire can't stray too far from camp. He isn't familiar enough with their surroundings to actually go anywhere, and he knows better than to get himself lost. Instead, he just walks far enough from the camp that it gives everyone the clear message that he has no interest in talking about any of what just happened.

Part of him is afraid that Enjolras will follow him, that Enjolras will find him and demand an explanation, forcing the truth out in Grantaire's own words, making this impossible to ignore or deny. Part of him _wants_ Enjolras to do so, to make him confront the truth and lay it bare.

Grantaire is not quite sure which side of him is stronger, but Enjolras does not show up. Grantaire is unsure about whether or not he's disappointed but then again, Grantaire is unsure about a lot of things. 

By the time he returns to camp, everyone else is in their tents, either asleep or as content to ignore him as he is to ignore them. He walks to the dragons as usual, pausing to get his thick blanket before he sits down beside Liberté, leaning back against him and enjoying the warmth that comes from his core.

Patria makes a quiet sound, stretching her neck so that the very end of her about bumps against Grantaire's shoulder. He leans into her, pressing a light kiss to her scales.

"It's no matter, Patria. I was never brave enough to tell him on my own and I never would have been." He sighs quietly, then takes the eggs out of their wooden chest and cradles them in his arms, pleased at the way their shells have hardened even more since the previous night. "Now, this is a song my mother would once sing for me whenever I happened to get myself hurt. Before my father decided that if I could not do complex sums in my head, I could find myself a new home."

The words come easily from Grantaire's memory, soothing, promising that the pain is only temporary, that all bad things will end and happiness will return. He has known better than to believe the lies told in songs for a long time now.

The next morning, Grantaire struggles to avoid Enjolras. It seems that everywhere he turns, Enjolras is there, and there's only so long that Bahorel, Joly and Bossuet can keep coming up with excuses to pull Grantaire away before Enjolras can start a conversation that neither of them are in no way ready to have.

At least when they're in the air, Grantaire doesn't need to worry about it. There is no possible way that they can talk when they're flying on entirely separate dragons, and Grantaire finally allows himself to relax a little.

"Are you alright?" Cosette asks him, once Liberté is cruising through the air, only needing to beating his wings once in a while. "You looked upset last night, and to be entirely honest with you, I can't say that you look particularly happy now."

Grantaire laughs quietly and shakes his head. "No, I don't think I am. I can't bring myself to blame Patria because the finer intricacies of… well, _humans_ are lost on her. I can't quite blame Enjolras either because it is not as though he forced me to feel anything. That leaves only myself, and I have never been particularly inclined to being kind to myself."

She squeezes his arm with a sad smile. "I cannot presume to give you advice when I do not know either of you well enough. I only hope that somehow, everything will work out for you both."

Grantaire nods gratefully, not quite in the mood to force a smile for her benefit. He doesn't tell her that he has absolutely no hope that any of this will work out, just as he doesn't tell her that none of it will matter soon enough.

Then, once they land in Belarus before the sun begins to set, Enjolras is suddenly much more difficult to avoid. 

Grantaire tries his hardest anyway. Every time Enjolras tries to approach him, Grantaire quickly moves away and busies himself in a conversation with somebody near him. It's a strategy that works until the sun has set and gets him through dinner without having to face Enjolras.

The rest of the aviators pretend as though nothing had happened the previous night, as if Patria hadn't said anything at all, and Grantaire wishes that Enjolras could just do the same. It would make both of their lives much easier.

As stubborn as Grantaire can be when he wants to be, he just isn't in the mood this time. He knows that Enjolras will not relent and the thought itself is enough to exhaust him. There's no point in continuing to avoid this if he knows that Enjolras will win eventually, so when everyone breaks off into their own little groups to talk and drink in front of their fires, Grantaire walks away from the camp once again, just far enough that he can only see the glow of the fires, and the voices from the camp are little more than a suggestion on the wind.

There's a stream by their campsite and Grantaire follows it, knowing that at least this way, he won't lose his way even if he walks further. Eventually he tires of walking in the darkness, tires of running from Enjolras, and sits down in the grass, hugging his knees and listening to the water as it flows past him.

Soon enough, he hears footsteps in the grass behind him, slowing and then finally coming to a stop. Enjolras clears his throat and says, "Can we please talk?"

Grantaire doesn't bother looking over his shoulder, twisting his fingers in the grass beside him. "I would ask if I had a choice in the matter, but I suppose I already know the answer to that."

"I do not want to make you feel uncomfortable, Grantaire." Enjolras steps closer, so that he is standing beside Grantaire. He looks down, and sits. "I am sorry for what Patria said, so loudly and publicly. I have already spoken to her about why her actions were inappropriate. She will apologise to you herself—"

"Damn it, Enjolras, I am not angry at _her_ ," Grantaire snaps. He quickly adds, "I am not angry at you either, before you think of apologising."

"Your actions say otherwise."

Grantaire shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "Can we please not do this? Please. Patria has said all that there is to say, and I'm not going to repeat it for your benefit. There is nothing more that I have to say."

"Will you at least listen to me?" Enjolras asks. He sighs quietly, drawing his knees to his chest as well. "I have been thinking about this, Grantaire. Not just because of last night, but for longer than that. About you—"

"Don't," Grantaire growls, getting to his feet. "I don't want your sympathy, Enjolras, and I certainly don't want your half-hearted attempt to return my feelings because you think that will fix anything. It doesn't matter, okay? It doesn't matter that I love you, and it doesn't matter that you don't love me. It's only a day, perhaps two, until we reach Russia and we both know what happens there. We both know that we are all going to die, so why are we even concerning ourselves with this? What's another day or two of unrequited love, when I've dealt with it for much longer than that? What does _anything_ matter, when we're going to die soon?"

"Don't you dare," Enjolras replies as he stands, scowling at Grantaire. "Don't you dare just accept your death so quickly. _Any_ of our deaths. And don't you dare deny what I feel when you have no idea. I _care_ for you."

"I don't believe you," Grantaire snaps as they circle each other. "I don't—you can't fool me like that, Enjolras. I'm not stupid enough to believe you, and I'm not stupid enough to believe that we're going to get out of this alive. You can pretend all you want, but it's not going to get you anywhere."

With a growl of frustration, Enjolras shoves Grantaire, reaching forward and grabbing the front of his jacket, pulling him back so they're nose to nose. "You do not believe in _anything_ , Grantaire. You are so afraid of letting yourself believe that you will deny what is right in front of you."

"And what might that be?" Grantaire laughs bitterly. " _You_?"

"Yes, _me_." 

This time, when Enjolras shoves Grantaire back, Grantaire regains his footing and shoves Enjolras right back. Enjolras falls to the ground, kicking Grantaire's feet out from under him and they end up in a heap, neither of them willing to come to blows, but neither of them willing to give up either. They tussle with each other, until Enjolras ends up on his back, grabbing a fistful of Grantaire's jacket again and pulling him down for a kiss. 

"What are you—!" Grantaire pulls away, scrambling backwards, to his feet, out of Enjolras' reach, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He can feel himself shaking with anger now. " _Fuck you_ Enjolras, that's not fair and you know it."

"What do you know about fair?" Enjolras spits. He stands and were they any closer, he would be looming over Grantaire. "You, who will not listen to a thing I say? Have you gotten so comfortable in your assumption that I do not see you—that I do not care about you—that you are so afraid that you are wrong?"

"I am not wrong," Grantaire says evenly. "For all I know, you might be telling the truth. What does that matter? However you might feel, I know that I will only drive you away. I will be—too much. That is what I am, isn't it? Excess. Too much wine, too much cynicism, too much love."

"How will you know?" Enjolras asks, "Unless you _try_? You might do what you can to hide yourself from those around us, from me, but I know you well enough to know that you will not accept death—not your own, and certainly not the death of your friends—without a fight. I know that you will not throw this away without trying."

"What makes you sure?" Grantaire asks. "What makes you so sure?"

"Grantaire, the reason I feel the way I do for you is because I _know_ that you care. You care so much that you do all that you can to hide it and it still shows through. I have seen you with the dragons, with the eggs. I have seen you with Liberté's crew and long before that, I have seen the way you care for your friends. I am not blind, though you seem to think that I am."

Grantaire shakes his head, his jaw working silently. 

"Grantaire, please," Enjolras says, and he doesn't need to say any more before Grantaire closes the distance between them in two long strides. He pulls Enjolras down for a kiss, and he doesn't hold back. He is open, honest, in a way he rarely is. He puts all of his feelings for Enjolras into their kiss, because he can, because he's trying to scare Enjolras away, because he wants to enjoy this while it lasts.

Enjolras, for his part, simply kisses him back, matching him, accepting everything Grantaire has to give. He isn't afraid; this isn't working, and Grantaire doesn't know whether to feel happy, or relieved, or _scared_.

"Do you see?" Enjolras murmurs against Grantaire's lips. "If you truly want me to, I'll leave. Otherwise, I'm not going anywhere."

Grantaire's only reply is to tighten his grip on Enjolras. The fond chuckle he earns for it tells him it's an acceptable answer. Enjolras kisses him, holding the sides of his face. Neither of them pull away until they're breathless and even then, they rest their foreheads against each other as they pant softly. 

"What are we doing?" Grantaire mutters.

"I don't know," Enjolras admits, and that's rare enough that Grantaire kisses him briefly for it. "We'll figure it out. When we return from Russia, we'll sort all of this out."

"But—"

"Quiet, Grantaire." Enjolras strokes his thumb over Grantaire's lips and then kisses them. "We will. You know that we will."

"I suppose it counts as added motivation, at least." Grantaire manages a smile in an attempt to cover up how terrified he feels, but he's sure that Enjolras sees right through it anyway. 

"We can do it." Enjolras sounds sure of himself. "You have surprised and impressed me so far while you've been captaining Liberté. I am certain that you will do the same, should we end up in a battle."

"You mean _when_." 

For once, Enjolras doesn't argue the correction. He simply takes Grantaire's hands into his own and pulls him close. "We can do it."

«·»

Enjolras and Grantaire agree to continue on as though nothing has changed between them, but it feels completely impossible for Enjolras. He is not the type of person to be quiet about anything he feels, and now that he has admitted what he feels for Grantaire—to himself, as well as Grantaire—he can no longer ignore it, or push it to the back of his mind. It's there, insisting on making itself known at every moment. He can't take his eyes off Grantaire, he can't help the way his lips automatically curve into a smile whenever their gazes meet. He can barely resist the urge to walk across to where Grantaire is making sure that Liberté's harness and rigging are securely done up and everything has been packed away, just to steal another kiss.

He'd joined Grantaire by the dragons the previous night, and they'd wrapped themselves in both of their blankets, sharing warmth as they'd kissed in the dark. Enjolras is certain he can still taste Grantaire on his tongue and while he doesn't want it to fade, he finds himself wondering if he can use it as an excuse to pull Grantaire aside later and kiss him all over again.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre calls, snapping him back to reality. Enjolras turns to him, ears burning, and Combeferre laughs softly at him. Both he and Courfeyrac had only needed to take one look at him this morning—even after he'd carefully disentangled himself from a still-sleeping Grantaire before anybody else had woken up—to know exactly what had happened. They're both extremely happy for him and above all, they look _relieved_ , and it makes Enjolras belatedly realise just how long he's spent trying to ignore his feelings. "Ready to leave as soon as you are."

"Right." Clearing his throat, Enjolras makes his final inspections and stands back to look up at Patria. "Is everything secure, my dear?"

She shakes herself out, making a satisfied hum when everything stays right where it is. "Yes, Enjolras. All lies well."

Some distance away, Enjolras sees Liberté, Max and Brise doing the same thing before the crews start clambering aboard. He makes eye contact with Grantaire when they are both settled on their dragon's backs. They're close enough that Enjolras can see the wide smile that won't leave Grantaire's face. It's a wonderful look on him.

Brise is the first into the air, then Patria. They wait until Max and Liberté have taken off as well, and fall into their loose formation. This close to Russia, they're doing all that they can to make sure that they don't appear as a threat. They do their best to make it clear that they aren't trying to disguise the fact that Patria is a Flamme-de-Gloire, knowing that this fact can be all that it takes before any patrolling group starts attacking. Rare as fire-breathing breeds are, they are even more destructive and are coveted and feared in equal measures for this quality. They might be bearing white flags of truce, but the sight of Patria could still be enough of a threat to spur enemy dragons into attacking them. Enjolras has a feeling that this is the reason that both Max and Liberté are flying a little closer behind Patria than they were before. He doesn't mind; if anything, he's comforted by this fact. 

Enjolras keeps a keen eye out on the sky around them, spyglass constantly in hand so that he can spot any approaching dragons ahead. No matter how many times he checks, he sees none. It would be more of a relief if he could believe that this is the way it will remain, but they all know better than that. 

As they cross the border into Russia, Enjolras can feel the mood of his entire crew changing. Every single member of his crew tenses, knowing that it is highly likely that they could be attacked at any time from this point forward. Enjolras fights the urge to look over to Liberté, to Grantaire, to see how he is coping with this. 

They've been flying through Russian air space for a while, before Enjolras spots something. It's coming from the entirely wrong direction; the speck is so small that it can only be a single dragon, and it can't be Russian, because it is coming from the direction they'd flown from. 

"There is a dragon behind us," he warns Patria, and sends the same message up in flags to the other captains.

Brise and Valjean respond immediately, turning around and backtracking so that they are flying behind Max and Liberté. They wait for Grantaire, who sends them a message to go ahead and investigate, and Brise flaps his wings rapidly, putting on an extra burst of speed so that he's finally travelling at the speed at which he is used to, covering the distance between them and the approaching dragon quickly.

From what Enjolras can see, the dragon is approaching them with almost equal speed. The speck in his spyglass barely grows any bigger and that is a relief because regardless of whatever reason this dragon is following them, it can only be a lightweight. Even if Brise is threatened, there are three much larger dragons to assert their dominance. 

"Wait," Courfeyrac says with a frown. He pulls the spyglass out of Enjolras' hands and raises it to have a look through it himself. "Is Brise being _chased_ by that other dragon?"

Snatching his spyglass up, Enjolras checks for himself. It looks as though Courfeyrac is right; Brise is flying back towards them as quickly as he can manage, and while he's flying faster than the other dragon, it is putting up quite the chase.

"What is going on?" Enjolras turns to Combeferre with a frown. 

Liberté growls loudly, turning around and preparing to attack if necessary. Max takes Liberté's lead and does the same.

"Are we really going to fight this dragon?" Enjolras asks incredulously. "All of us?"

"It's threatening Brise," Courfeyrac replies, like it's that simple. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it's not.

"That's a French dragon," Enjolras realises, his heart sinking as he recognises the markings once it flies closer. "A Chasseur-Vocifere."

"A _French_ dragon?" Courfeyrac cries. "What's it doing here?"

For a terrifying moment, Enjolras wonders if it's heralding a much larger formation of dragons somewhere behind it, come to make sure that they all die here. Then he recognises Javert on the dragon's back, speaking trumpet raised to his mouth as he yells something that sounds like Valjean's name. 

"What the hell is going on?" Enjolras mutters under his breath. 

"Veneur!" Liberté addresses Javert's dragon, flying forward to block her path. "Explain yourself!"

Veneur slows down, instinctively deferring to the larger dragon. "Liberté, your captain has stolen some eggs from Javert when you were in Chaudes-Aigues and we have come to reclaim them. They are not yours to take."

"What would you do with them?" Liberté asks. "I will not allow you to return them to France so that they might hatch and then be send into danger time and time again until they die. I have seen too much of that for my liking already."

Veneur hesitates, unsure of how to respond. Valjean takes this time to fly over to Patria, close enough that he can ask, "Javert is here after _Grantaire_? When he flew near enough, he recognised me from when I took Brise's egg."

"That's why he began to chase you instead." Enjolras nods in understanding. "He must have decided that losing _three_ eggs at once was too much to allow without giving pursuit."

Veneur surges forward, directed by Javert, and Liberté dodges her, half-heartedly snapping his jaw, not truly wanting to do her any harm. Enjolras knows exactly how vicious a Chasseur-Vocifere can be when it wants to. He only hopes that her reluctance to fight will outweigh the orders that she is being given by Javert.

"Javert!" Valjean calls, directing Brise to fly to them. "Your quarrel is with me, not them—"

"I lost my position!" Javert replies. Enjolras can see his speaking trumpet shaking in his hand. "I have nothing now but Veneur, and I blame this on you. _All_ of you. How fitting that I should find you here, Valjean!"

Valjean is at a loss for words, but he is not given the opportunity to think of anything to say, before Javert urges Veneur to attack Brise. Enjolras watches, unsure of whether to join the fight, break it up, or just do nothing and wait for them to resolve it. 

The dragons chase each other, Veneur snapping and roaring while Brise dodges and dives. Brise is the more talented flier, manoeuvring through the air with an ease that comes from much more practice and experience than Veneur has seen. Enjolras worries that they are going to keep going, Brise too fast and Veneur too stubborn, until they tire themselves out.

He is about to make a comment to Patria along these lines but before he can, Liberté growls.

" _Stop_. Both of you. Look ahead of us—we have much more important things to focus on than fighting amongst ourselves."

He is right; on the horizon, Enjolras can see a large group of dragons approaching. He cannot count them yet but he doesn't need to; they are obviously outnumbered. He turns to Liberté, to see Grantaire looking in his direction. Then, Grantaire raises his own speaking trumpet and turns to his crew.

"To Patria! Fall into battle formations! Prepare for attack!" Turning to Veneur, Grantaire adds, "Javert, if you want to live, then pull your head out of your arse and _help us_."

To Enjolras' relief, Javert doesn't argue. He simply directs Veneur to fly alongside Brise, at the very front of their formation. Patria flies in the middle, and both Liberté and Max fly beside her this time, instead of behind.

"Riflemen!" Bahorel calls, and they pick up their guns, making sure that they're securely attached to the harness before putting both hands on their guns.

The Russian dragons continue to advance and there is nothing to be done now but meet them and find out what fate has in store for them.

«·»

From what Grantaire can tell from this distance, a number of the attacking dragons are Ironwings. Liberté listens to their wingbeats and confirms this fact. There are twelve dragons in total and only three of them are heavyweights. Not that this is any comfort to Grantaire; Ironwings are known for how venomous they are and that means that fighting at a close range in not going to be a very good idea.

There are a few lightweights flying at the front as well and Grantaire counts them, sending a message to the others in flags: _Three heavyweights. Four lightweights. Five middleweights; all Ironwings_.

"This is not going to go well, is it?" Cosette asks at Grantaire's shoulder, as the message is passed from one dragon to the next.

"We are going to do all that we can," Grantaire replies. He gives Cosette a strained smile, unable to help the way he glances in Patria's direction. "We both have far too much to lose, don't we?"

Cosette nods, looking determined this time. "We do. I have no intention of losing. We will show them what we are capable of, Captain Grantaire."

This startles an inappropriately loud laugh out of Grantaire that he quickly smothers, clearing his throat. His crew look at him and he does his best to look encouraging. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Let's do our best to show our Russian friends just how resilient we are! Are you ready, Liberté? Of course you are—you were winning battles when my grandfather was still a baby."

This time, it's Liberté who chuckles. He turns his head slightly. "We will win this, Grantaire."

"I leave it in your capable hands," Grantaire says, patting the scales of Liberté's neck. "Claws. You know what I mean."

"It is quite alright to be scared," Liberté tells him reassuringly. "This is your first battle as a captain. There is no reason that you should be expected to know exactly what you are doing. Luckily, you have me to help you on that matter."

"Yes." Grantaire laughs nervously, and now that he has acknowledged how nervous he feels, he feels it run through him, gripping him tightly before it ebbs away. His mind clears, if only a little. "Yes, you are right Liberté. Let's do this."

The lightweights charge forward first, covering the distance between them in a matter of seconds. They dive right at the middle of the formation, at Patria, and while they have maintained a comfortable distance between their dragons, Brise and Veneur are still far too close for Patria to use her fire-breath immediately. Brise wheels around, moving out of the way, but Veneur gives chase to the lightweights, remaining in Patria's way. 

Max flies forward, blocking Veneur's path and guiding her to the side, out of the way. Liberté flies to Patria's side, ready to give her support as she draws a deep breath. The Russian lightweights see their opportunity now that the formation has been broken, and dive at them once again, seeking to drive them further apart.

Grantaire realises what they're doing, but it's too late to stop them. The heavyweights are upon them now, roaring mightily as they attack. Liberté drops out of the way as Patria lets out a burst of flame, and one of the heavyweight roars in pain as it is burned. There is no time to check when they're under attack, but Grantaire is certain that they're being driven away from Max, Brise and Veneur. They're losing whatever little strength they had in their numbers, but Grantaire tries to push that out of his mind so that he can focus on the present situation instead. 

Patria is drawing quick breaths; her flames do not need to travel far to do damage. She is targeting one of the heavyweights, avoiding his claws as she focuses her fire on his hardness. The leather burns and falls apart under the direct heat, and the dragon stops attacking as its crew begin to fall off. With another precisely aimed burst of flame, the dragon's captain falls as well and the dragon cries out in distress, abandoning the battle in favour of turning into a sharp dive, trying to outrun gravity and save his captain while the remainder of his crew cling to the burning harness for their lives.

Liberté does not stray far from Patria; both Liberté and Grantaire know that they are already at a disadvantage with their numbers reduced like this and still grossly outnumbered. The Russian dragons will take any opportunity they are given to split them further, and it will be impossible to find any kind of victory if that happens. Patria needs a dragon to defend her while she is using her fire-breath and Liberté does what he can to keep them away from her, using his claws, his tail, his teeth. His experience in the battlefield shows and Grantaire doesn't even need to give any directions for him to know what to do. 

The Ironwings don't mind hanging back; they're more than happy to allow the heavyweight to attack first, wearing Patria and Liberté down before they fly closer, fangs bared. Liberté is larger than the Russian heavyweight, and it is immediately apparent that he is more experienced in battle as well. He charges at her, raking his claws along her side. Her roar of pain is deafening from this close, but Liberté continues on, unaffected. His tail lashes out, hitting her as he flies past, circling around to attack her again. 

Patria keeps the other dragons at bay with her fire, only allowing them the tiniest bit closer as she draws breath, then driving them back once again. It means that Liberté is able to focus his entire attention on the one dragon and he takes full advantage of this fact, charging into her and giving Grantaire and the rest of the crew the quick instruction to hold on just before impact, sending the other dragon reeling, her crew struggling to regain their balance and reorient themselves. He doesn't give them the time, attacking again, driving her further back, so quickly that she doesn't even have the time to actually see where she is going. She doesn't notice the Ironwing behind her until she knocks into it, her sheer bulk causing enough damage that it the Ironwing snaps at her on instinct. The large dragon roars in pain as the Ironwing's venom seeps into her system, and then in alarm as the paralysis comes into effect. She struggles to stay aloft, and her captain directs her to land before she can fall the rest of the way down. The injured Ironwing backs away, knowing better than to keep fighting.

There are still two Ironwings and three lightweights left to deal with, and Patria is beginning to tire from using her fire-breath so often. Liberté runs down one of the lightweights, scratching it badly enough to make it back away while the riflemen fire on the closest Ironwing. It is struck once, though it doesn't do enough damage to make it back away.

"Grantaire—!" Cosette cries in alarm, grabbing his arm. 

He looks to where she is pointing, and he feels his stomach clench up when he realises that Patria is out of fire-breath, and that the two remaining lightweights have approached her from both sides, and are about to start boarding her.

He knows Enjolras' crew better than he knows his own, because he's spent so much of his time being part of it. He knows that the midwingmen will be fighting the boarders; there won't be very many of them when the dragons are lightweights anyway.

Then, the Ironwings begin to advance.

"Shit." Grantaire places a hand on Liberté's neck, not taking his eyes away from the way the Russian aviators are overpowering Enjolras' midwingmen. "Liberté, I need to help Enjolras."

Liberté rumbles in acknowledgement. "What do you need me to do?"

"I…" Grantaire hesitates, and then steels himself. He undoes one of the carabiners securing him to Liberté's harness. "I need you to get me as close to Patria as you possibly can. Get rid of those dragons near her, so she can get back to attacking those Ironwings before they get too close."

"You are going to do something incredibly foolish." Liberté doesn't argue, simply hums and changes direction, so that he is above Patria and the two lightweights. "Be careful."

Both of the lightweights quail when they see Liberté's significantly larger shadow covering them, but they are trained well enough that they don't simply drop away. They remain where they are, on either side of Patria, and from this close, Grantaire can see that Courfeyrac is hurt and Combeferre is fighting off an attacker who is trying to get them both. Another is advancing on Enjolras, and Grantaire growls under his breath, unclipping his second carabiner once Liberté has steadied himself. 

He climbs as far down the harness as he possibly can, to make sure that there is as little distance between the two dragons as he will get. It's not a very long drop, but this high in the air, with the wind blowing around them, every little bit counts. 

He drops directly on top of Enjolras' attacker, drawing his knife and slitting his throat before he can even realise what is going on. Enjolras stares at him in disbelief, sword held ready in his hand. Grantaire grins up at him, but it quickly turns into a look of surprise as a sudden gust of wind hits him. He hasn't clipped himself onto Patria's harness yet and for a second, he is certain he is going to die, but then he realises that Enjolras has both hands clinging to the front of his shirt.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Enjolras cries, holding Grantaire down so he can quickly clip his carabiners into place. When Enjolras is certain that Grantaire is not going to be blown away, he lets go and hits his shoulder. "What the fuck were you _thinking_ , Grantaire?"

"I wasn't," Grantaire replies, his heart still racing. He reaches out for Enjolras this time. "You're safe. I had to keep you safe. That's all I was thinking."

"You're meant to be…" Enjolras looks at Liberté, who is in the process of knocking both of the lightweights aside. The boarders have all been killed. He looks back at Grantaire. "You're meant to be _on your dragon_ , not here!"

"Liberté's not my dragon, and you know it." Grantaire tightens his grip on Enjolras. "I'm one of your midwingmen. I keep you safe from boarders."

"You didn't have to _jump_! You could have fallen. You nearly did."

"I could have lost you," Grantaire says simply. "You could have been captured. Killed. Falling would have been a better alternative to any of that. I had to try."

" _Grantaire_." Enjolras pulls him into a deep kiss. "I love you. Never do that again."

"Try not to get boarded again. I need to get back to Liberté now so we can end this, but I hope you know that once we do, I'm making you repeat that first bit a few times."

"No more jumping," Enjolras repeats, and Grantaire nods with a grin as Patria reaches to pick him up off her back and hand him over to Liberté. Enjolras is clearly not particularly pleased by this either, but it's definitely a better alternative to what Grantaire had done before.

"I do not think it would be wise to do that again," Liberté tells Grantaire, once he's back in position at the base of the dragon's neck. "For one, I do believe that Enjolras would attempt to kill you himself."

Grantaire laughs. Lefévre and Cosette are both giving him matching looks of absolute disbelief. "I don't imagine I'll try, don't you worry."

They watch as Patria lets out a large burst of flame that keeps the Ironwings at bay once again, and Liberté asks, "What are we going to do now?"

"How's your Russian?" Grantaire asks.

Liberté lets out an amused rumble. "I am rather fluent in it, actually."

"Oh, good," Grantaire smiles. "I know a few words myself. Think they'll stop trying to kill us if we bribe them with eggs?"

«·»

Liberté and Patria are so far away that Jehan can't even see them any more beyond the sudden rush of the battle around them. There are dragons flying back and forth and Max is fending them off, swinging his wicked, hooked tail around to great effect. He manages to bring an Ironwing down by doing so, while he scratches at the lightweights around him.

Brise and Veneur don't quite know how to work together but they both independently swoop at the heavyweight enough to keep him distracted enough that Max can then fly forward and attack. The heavyweight manages to shake the smaller dragons off to respond to Max, roaring and snapping at him. Max flies in a tight circle, tail lashing out and raking along the heavyweight's back. 

In between reloading his rifle, Jehan notices that one of the Ironwings is targeting Veneur. He knows that Max won't be able to make it in time to defend the smaller dragon; not when he is so distracted fighting off three dragons at once. 

Then, Brise flies towards Veneur, outflying the Ironwing and attacking it from the sides and the back, away from its mouth so that it can't bite. Then, finally, Veneur starts working with Brise—which Jehan knows actually means that Valjean and Javert are learning to work with each other. They team up to attack the Ironwing, not flying anywhere near its head and going after its crew instead. The Ironwing roars with fury, but before it can stop them, Veneur has pulled its harness apart and its crew begin to fall. 

"Clever," Feuilly mutters, then raises his voice so that Marius can hear him. "Attack the crew! Avoid being bitten by the Ironwings and go for their crews instead!"

Marius nods in acknowledgement and gives Max the same instruction. Max renews his efforts to attack, taking this new strategy on board immediately. His claws are outstretched and he swoops close enough that the riflemen cannot attack before they're knocked down, his sharp claws tearing the harness apart. The Ironwing that he is attacking immediately falls back, unwilling to risk losing its crew. 

The Russian dragons regroup, still outnumbering them, but before they can continue fighting, they're interrupted by a loud roar.

It's one of the Ironwings from the other group that had attacked Patria and Liberté. When Jehan turns around to look, he realises that the entire group is flying towards them, with Patria and Liberté flying alongside them. Jehan's heart sinks for a moment, fearing that Enjolras and Grantaire have been captured, that the dragons have given up their fight in order to save their captains, but then he sees Grantaire on Liberté's back, waving at them, and they receive a message in flags: _Stop fighting, we have come to a truce_.

The Russians send the same message to their fellow aviators and both sides relax. The heavyweights with their full crews join them, one of them missing, still land-bound while it's crew and captain mend its harness so that it can carry them back. One of the Ironwing captains takes charge, confirming that everybody is ready to go before leading the way, sending one of the lightweights ahead of them to let their base know what's happening.

It doesn't take them any longer than half an hour to get to the sprawling dragon grounds. They're given space in the large courtyard to land their dragons and as soon as Patria's crew have climbed off, she immediately lies down, exhausted from the battle. Max goes to her side as soon as he's free of his crew, watching over her so that she can rest properly.

Grantaire is going through Liberté's belly rigging, pulling out the chest with the eggs inside. He opens the lid, peering inside and smiling with relief when he sees that they are all in one piece. He talks to them, and even though Jehan is too far away to actually hear what Grantaire is saying, he knows that it's soft and gentle and reassuring, the way that Grantaire has been with these eggs since he first stole them.

Enjolras is watching Grantaire, completely lost to what's going on around him. He's just standing there beside Patria, his gaze fixed on Grantaire and a small, fond smile on his lips. It's a wonderful sight, but Jehan doesn't have very long to take it in before he's tackled into a hug by Bahorel.

"You're safe, you're safe. I knew you would be, but _you're safe_." Bahorel's arms are so tight around him that for a moment, Jehan can't breathe. He doesn't mind, taking a deep breath when Bahorel finally loosens his grip, and then hugs him in return.

"You won't believe what Grantaire did while we were fighting. Or maybe you will. I _still_ can't tell if I'm actually surprised." Bahorel laughs, shaking his head. 

They both look over at the others. Cosette goes to hug her father, and then she and Marius pull each other into a tight embrace, relieved that they're both unharmed. Courfeyrac is limping, but Combeferre is beside him, helping to support his weight while Joly checks on his leg. They're all okay—they're all _alive_ —but Jehan knows that it's not over yet.

Enjolras is standing with Grantaire now and they are talking quietly, leaning into each other to the point that their foreheads are nearly touching. Going by their expressions, they're talking about their strategies, and what they are going to do now that they are here. There might be a truce now, but that can change at any moment and here, where they are completely surrounded by Russian dragons, there is absolutely no chance that they will make it out alive.

A group of Russian captains walk out into the courtyard, led by a woman with long brown hair braided down to her waist. Judging by the bars on her coat, she is the Grand Admiral. She introduces herself as Admiral Volkova in slow, broken French. Grantaire responds in Russian and the only bits that Jehan can understand are when he introduces himself, the other captains, and their dragons. From there, they both start speaking too quickly for Jehan to have any hope of guessing what they are talking about.

Turning to the rest of them, Grantaire begins to translate. "They want all of you to stay out here so that they can keep an eye on you. You aren't under any threat. The captains are to have a meeting, so that we can talk about our current situation. I've let them know that we have three eggs with us, and that we will be more than happy to hand them over, provided that they listen to us first. I've made it clear that we're not exactly here to act like representatives of the French government. I might have put it a little more bluntly than that, but they seemed to appreciate it."

This makes most of them grin and Grantaire turns back to Volkova with a nod, speaking in Russian and then French. "Shall we go?"

Valjean and Javert stick together, both of them looking wary. Marius joins Grantaire and Enjolras and they let Volkova lead the way with the rest of the Russian captains. Grantaire carefully carries the chest of eggs in both arms as he walks.

The rest of them are left in the courtyard with the dragons. Bahorel places his hand on Jehan's back and it's comforting. It makes him feel as safe as he possibly can, considering their circumstances, and Jehan simply leans into the contact, wrapping his arm around Bahorel in turn and settles down to wait and see what happens.

«·»

Enjolras wants a lot of things right at this moment. Somewhere near the top of that list is for everything to work itself out and for them to be able to go home and find that the situation in France has dramatically changed, and none of the dragons or their crews are being mistreated. He knows that one of these things is much more realistic than the other, just as he knows that neither of them will be easy.

Right now, what he wants most is to pull Grantaire into his arms and not let go for a very long time, but he knows that he will have to wait for that, too. Grantaire glances in his direction as they walk and adjusts his grip on the chest so that he can brush their hands against each other. Enjolras smiles and Grantaire winks in reply. For once, Grantaire seems to be more positive about how things will work out than Enjolras feels.

"In here," Volkova says in French, opening the door to a large meeting room. There's a long table in the centre and Grantaire places the chest at one end, leaving the lid open so that the others can see the eggs inside.

"Flamme-de-Gloire?" Volkova asks, looking at the egg in the middle.

"And Fleur-de-Nuit," Grantaire replies with a nod and then points at the dark eggs and speaks in Russian, presumably explaining that they are part of the hybrid program, that they are bred specifically to get rid of their aversion to bright light.

Volkova takes a step back and folds her arms across her chest. "I am listening. Explain why you are here."

Grantaire looks at Enjolras before he turns back to Volkova. Just as before, he speaks in Russian first and then explains in French. "I told them about what happened to Lamarque. About how he was the only one to defend us and look out for us, and how he was poisoned for it. I told them about Juliette, the way she was injured so badly that she had to be killed, so that they know exactly what we've been dealing with and just how bad it's become. I told them about the revolution, and how we were sent here with the expectation that we'll die."

Enjolras frowns. "You told them—"

"I told them that I still half-expect them to kill us," Grantaire says, turning to him. "And I also said that I'm hoping that they don't. I'm hoping that I can convince them otherwise."

Volkova starts speaking and Grantaire turns to her so he can listen, and translate. "She said that they've also noticed how reckless France has become lately. Like they're afraid that without Napoleon, the world will assume that they're no longer a threat. That they're weak. They know that it's been the British who have been bearing the brunt of it, but they've been sending messages to Russia, to the Prussian fleets, letting them know about what's been happening. Turns out they're tiring of being attacked for little to no reason."

Volkova and Grantaire have a brief conversation and Grantaire laughs, sounding relieved. "Okay. You will be pleased to know that Volkova is not going to have us killed, despite the amount of damage we did to the Russians' dragons, because we didn't attack first, and we don't actually have any interest in fighting them at all."

Enjolras breathes a quiet sigh of relief. "And the bad news?"

Grantaire laughs. "I'm sorry, did we swap places without me realising? There is no bad news, unless you want to count the fact that Volkova will keep us here—as guests, you can relax—until she has spoken to the British and the Prussians, so that they can decide what they are going to do about France."

"Are they going to attack?" Enjolras asks. "Will this lead to an all-out war?"

"With three armies against one?" Valjean speaks up. "No. I think that they only intend to intimidate. Provided France has the sense to surrender."

"Javert, you have been surprisingly quiet—" Grantaire falls silent as he turns around. "Javert?"

Enjolras looks over to find Javert leaning against the wall, his eyes wide. He looks crestfallen, as if his faith has been torn away from him. 

"I did not know the true cause of Lamarque's death," he says quietly. "Nor did I know about all of the dragons being injured. Killed. I did not know any of this."

Grantaire quickly turns to translate and explain all of this to Volkova. She frowns and turns to Javert, carefully constructing her sentences in French.

"I am sorry that you are being lied to by your own countrymen. I hope that you can understand why it is necessary that we stop those in power before any more damage can be done."

Javert nods and replies, "I do."

Valjean squeezes Javert's shoulder in an effort to provide comfort. Javert tenses, but he does not pull away. Enjolras supposes that this counts as a significant improvement from before.

"We will send our couriers out to pass the message on to our allies as soon as possible," Volkova tells them. "You will stay here with us until we have made a decision about what to do."

"She means keep us here under watch to make sure that we aren't a threat," Javert mutters, speaking quickly so that Volkova will not pick up on what he is saying.

"But can you blame her?" Grantaire asks. "Would _you_ take us at face value in her position?" 

"Grantaire has a good point," Enjolras adds as he turns to Javert. "We cannot expect her to trust us until we have _earned_ her trust."

"Exactly." Volkova smiles at them, and it's clear that she understands every word they have been saying. She turns to Grantaire. "I apologise for deceiving you, but I am sure that you understand my reasons."

Grantaire lifts one shoulder in a shrug, not looking the slightest bit perturbed. "Of course, Admiral. And I must say, this certainly makes communication much easier."

"You should be proud of your Russian," Volkova tells him. "Accented, but other than that, it is much better than what I've heard most Frenchmen attempting."

Grantaire laughs at that, looking pleased with himself. Enjolras feels a sudden rush of pride for him as well, and Grantaire turns to him just in time to catch the fond look. He returns it before clearing his throat and looking back at Volkova. 

"We will go out and inform our crews then. If you could have someone direct us to where we will be staying…?"

"Of course." Volkova turns to one of the captains and speaks quickly to him and he nods, immediately leaving. "Orlov will send his cadets to clear some rooms for you in the east wing of the residential quarters. You might be here for a while, so I would recommend that you make yourselves comfortable."

"Thank you," Grantaire says with a nod. "Which, I suppose, brings us to our next matter. The eggs? Their shells have hardened quite well since I first took them. Liberté believes that they will hatch quite soon. A few weeks, at the most."

"They are not yours to give," Javert bites out, and Valjean holds him back with an arm across his chest.

"Would you have them returned to France?" Grantaire asks, raising an eyebrow, before Enjolras can even respond. "To face Juliette's fate? You joined us, instead of returning home the moment you saw the Russian dragons on the horizon. You would not allow your own dragon to live under the conditions in France at the moment. Why would you wish that fate on unhatched dragons with endless potential?"

Javert presses his lips together into a thin line, clearly unhappy about it, but unable to argue. Valjean looks at him expectantly, and he finally says, "You may have a point."

Enjolras knows that it's the most they're going to get out of Javert, and Grantaire's smile says the same. Volkova looks at them patiently before turning her attention back to the eggs. "And as payment—"

"There is no payment required," Grantaire replies. "You are sparing our lives, when we thought that we were going to die the moment we crossed your borders."

"You would have, had you not let Captain Kedrova know that you had those eggs with you." Volkova smiles even though it's not the least bit reassuring. "You were French aviators."

"And yet Captain Kedrova called off the attack as soon as she knew about the eggs," Grantaire replies. "I do believe that they served their purpose."

"You were clever to bring them with you for that purpose," Volkova tells him. "I will take them to the hatching grounds, so that they can be cared for properly until they hatch. You have done an admirable job of keeping them safe and swaddled throughout your journey."

"Grantaire is good at thinking on his feet," Enjolras speaks up, the praise making Grantaire's eyes widen before he smiles. "Grantaire is… cleverer than most. Certainly more so than he is given credit for."

"I can see that." Volkova smiles at them both. Orlov returns to the room, announcing that his cadets begun clearing some rooms. Volkova nods, leading the way out of the room. "Come, after all of that travel and then the battle, you must all be exhausted. We will eat now, and perhaps by the time you and your crews have finished, your rooms will be ready. I will ensure that your dragons are fed as well."

Grantaire nods gratefully as he begins to follow her. Enjolras stops him for a brief moment with a hand around his wrist.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire's voice is gentle. "If you are concerned about—"

"I'm not," Enjolras replies. "I'm not worried about being here, or the eggs, or any of it, Grantaire. That's the thing. You have taken care of everything. Despite all of my planning and my fretting, you were the one who calmly took control. _You_ are the reason that any of us are still alive. For the second time."

Grantaire ducks his head with embarrassment and, not caring who sees, Enjolras places his hand on Grantaire's cheek, lifting his head back up so that they are looking into each other's eyes. 

"You make a good captain, Grantaire. You… have surprised and impressed me a lot, lately. I feel blind for not having noticed any of it sooner."

"I hide it well," Grantaire replies with an easy smile, and links his arm with Enjolras'. "Come on, we don't want to lose the others."

"Grantaire—" Enjolras begins again, using the brief privacy they are afforded from being the last two remaining in the meeting room.

"Yes, Enjolras?" Grantaire asks, patient and indulging.

"I meant what I said earlier. During the battle. I do love you." Enjolras' tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he clears his throat. "And if you risk your life like that ever again, I will most probably kill you myself."

Grantaire laughs, kissing Enjolras' cheek before pulling him along. "Come on, let's go."

«·»

It takes two days before Grantaire and Enjolras can have any time alone together. It's ridiculous, because they're sharing the same room. They're sleeping no more than two metres apart from each other, but they both spent the first two days making sure that their crews are behaving, that the dragons are settling in. While Volkova seems like a fair and patient leader, none of them are particularly keen on testing that. They do not want to find out how much she will allow before she snaps and decides that she doesn't want to be quite so hospitable after all.

For the most part, it's going well. Their dragons are getting along with the Russian dragons, both sides curious about each other and eagerly sharing stories and swapping information. Patria is fascinated by the Ironwings' fangs, just as they are about her fire-breath and she makes fast friends with them.

Most of the crew are also fairly well-behaved; Feuilly is quickly learning to speak Russian as well and has made a habit of practicing it with Grantaire whenever they speak. Courfeyrac's leg is healing well; he uses a crutch for now, but he is told that in a few weeks' time, he will be able to walk unassisted once again. Combeferre hovers by him at all times, keeping an eye on him, making sure that others leave him alone, and taking care of him. Grantaire is certain that were it anybody else but Combeferre, Courfeyrac would be sick of it by now. Instead, he smiles at Combeferre, more often than not using his leg as an excuse to lean against him, or hold onto his arm as they walk together.

The only problem that Grantaire encounters is the fact that some of their crew don't know how to respond to the fact that a great majority of the Russian aviators are female. Volkova had explained this to Grantiare and the other captains on their first day at the base; Ironwings only took on female captains, and as they are main strength of the Russian aerial forces, it only makes sense that roughly half of the aviators are women. Some of them openly stare, others try to flirt, and Grantaire takes each and every one of them aside, explaining to them exactly why their behaviour is unacceptable. He's sure that they receive a second lecture from Enjolras—and it's probably far more threatening—and he does nothing about it. Receiving the same message twice is better than not receiving it at all and Grantaire doesn't want to wait for one of the Russian aviators to decide that she's had enough. 

They've both been so busy that by the time they return to their room at night, they're both far too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed and fall asleep. They need to talk, and they need to figure out what they're doing and what they want from each other, but they need to be awake for that.

Finally, on the morning of their third day in Russia, Grantaire and Enjolras go down to the mess hall for breakfast to find that everything has finally settled down. Their crews are getting along with the Russians, even more of them gradually learning how to speak the language. They share tables, stories, laughing and eating with each other, and Grantaire hears Enjolras sigh with relief beside him, leaning their shoulders against each other.

Grantaire turns to him with a fond smile. Maybe today, they'll finally get to spend some much-needed time alone with each other.

The Russians have been kind enough to allow them to do their flying drills in the mornings. After breakfast, they rig their dragons up and take to the air on one end of the large grounds, while the Russians train at the other end. Grantaire doesn't want their dragons to fall behind, when there's the very real possibility that they will be flying back to France with the intent of fighting, if it comes to that.

They let Liberté lead the drills because he knows what to do better than the rest of them. He devises a training plan with the help of Grantaire and ensures that everybody continues to work to their very best. 

After they're done with their drills and are undoing the dragons' large harnesses, Grantaire glances in Enjolras' direction, catching his eye and smiling at him. Enjolras grins in return, and they both get back to what they're doing, working even faster now, so that they can leave sooner.

"Go on, then," Cosette nudges him with a smile of her own, and Grantaire hopes that his ears aren't turning red. 

"It's a lovely day," Enjolras says, walking over to Grantaire when their dragons head off to their clearing. "Would you like to take a walk around the grounds with me?"

"Lead the way," Grantaire replies, and they walk together. Grantaire slides his hands into his pockets, not trusting himself to have the self-restraint to keep from reaching for Enjolras' hand as they walk, where anybody can see. 

"I hope you know," Enjolras says, when they're far enough away from the buildings that they don't need to worry about being overhead, "I have absolutely no idea what I am doing."

Grantaire laughs quietly at that, shaking his head. "Neither do I, to be honest."

"I hope you know how _rare_ it is," Enjolras continues. "For me to have no idea what I'm doing, no idea how something will turn out and what it might mean in the future, and want to do it anyway."

"Well." Grantaire flushes and he can't help but feel pleased. "Perhaps I like you a little surprised, a little out of your depth."

"Not many people manage to leave me that way, and certainly not as often as you do."

"Is that why you like me?" Grantaire asks, bumping their shoulders together.

"It's one of the many reasons," Enjolras admits, in the entirely honest way that Grantaire absolutely adores. "There are more than I can count, if I'm being completely honest."

"I have a feeling you wouldn't list them even if I asked."

"You'd be right," Enjolras mutters, though he's smiling. "Wouldn't want you to get sick of hearing just how wonderful I think you are."

"I'm not sure that I'm at any risk of getting sick of that," Grantaire tells him.

"Yes, and I am pretty sure that this is half the problem," Enjolras mutters. "I do love you, though."

"I like hearing it." Grantaire takes one hand out of his pocket, stroking his index finger across the back of Enjolras' hand. "I love you, Enjolras."

They stand there for a moment, and Grantaire is about to throw all caution to the wind and steal a kiss, but that's when they hear Eponine calling out, " _Grantaire_!"

They pull apart quickly and Grantaire turns to see Eponine running in their direction. She's quickly outrun by three small dragons, all of them the size of dogs, who all crowd around Grantaire.

"Grantaire, Grantaire," they say to him, circling around his legs to the point where he needs to step away from Enjolras. One of the dragonets peers up at him. "You _are_ Grantaire, are you not?"

"Yes," he laughs, reaching out with both of his hands to pat their heads. He recognises them, though he's never seen them like this before. He feels that he's known the dragonets since they were in their eggs. "So you've hatched, then."

"It was too boring to stay inside," the little Flamme-de-Gloire tells him. "And you would not sing to us any more. I did not think you would be able to sing to us when we reached Russia, but I missed it."

"Me too, me too," the Fleurs-de-Nuit add. All three of them try to clamber up Grantaire's legs, until he falls down to sit in the grass, laughing as they nuzzle against him.

"I knew that I could hear your voice," the Flamme-de-Gloire says proudly. "I would be able to recognise it from anywhere."

"Is that so?" Grantaire strokes its head, and does the same to the other two. Then, his eyes widen. "Wait, you have not been harnessed yet."

He looks up at Enjolras, who looks equally concerned. It is commonly believed that a dragon needs to be harnessed by its new captain the moment it hatches, or it might go feral. Here, all three dragons are crowding around Grantaire without a harness and without care for this fact.

"Will you be my captain, Grantaire?" The slightly larger Fleur-de-Nuit asks, nudging Grantaire's side.

"No, he will choose me!"

" _Me_!"

Grantaire laughs incredulously, looking at both Enjolras and Eponine. The opportunity to become a captain is not something that comes around very often and it's something that most aviators would not even think of passing up. 

Most. 

"I did not bring you all here so that I can claim you for myself," Grantaire tells them gently. "You will have Russian captains and you will be very lucky, because all of the captains I have met here are lovely and will care very much for you."

"But…"

"I will still be here, for a while." Grantaire smiles at them fondly. "But you will meet your captains, and you will want to spend most of your time with them. I adore all three of you, but I have Liberté who is kind enough to let me fly with him and after that, I have Patria to return to. I'm afraid that she will be most cross with me if I do not."

The dragonets sigh unhappily but when Grantaire stands, they step aside to give him space.

"Come on. I should return you to the hatching area before your hopeful captains become too upset."

He leads the way, walking with Enjolras and Eponine, the dragons trailing after them. Just as he'd predicted, there is absolute chaos where the eggs had hatched, aviators holding empty harnesses and shouting at each other. They fall silent when Grantaire walks in with the dragonets, watching as he directs them back to the small group of aviators. 

"Sorry, they were a little excited," he explains, hoping that none of them have taken offence. "A little impatient to say hello, that's all. They will allow you to harness them now."

This makes the dragonets start walking up to the aviators holding the harnesses, rapidly asking questions in fluent Russian. Grantaire stands to the side, amused as he watches the dragonets interviewing their prospective captains before finally accepting their harnesses.

"Are you okay?" Enjolras asks quietly, placing his hand on Grantaire's back. 

"Of course." Grantaire smiles warmly at Enjolras. "Why wouldn't I be? I told them the truth—I have Liberté until I can return to your crew once again."

"You will go back to being a midwingman?" Enjolras asks, frowning slightly. "You will do this happily?"

"That is all I want," Grantaire replies with a small shrug. "Being part of a crew, playing my role. I am not a leader, like you are."

"You've proven otherwise since we came here. Even before that."

"I am happy to let others lead, and I would gladly follow you anywhere that you asked."

"Gladly?" Enjolras laughs quietly, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I would argue that it's a bad idea the entire way, but I would still be there with you, when it comes down to it."

"I appreciate that," Enjolras replies softly.

Eponine clears her throat awkwardly, and they both turn to her, giving her apologetic looks.

"We should go," she says. "So that we can let the dragons get settled with their new captains."

Grantaire nods, but just as they are about to turn and leave, they hear the soft cracking of another egg hatching.

It's one of the Russian eggs and judging by the colouring of the shell, it's an Ironwing. The aviators that did not manage to harness one of the French dragonets turn to it eagerly, the men stepping aside.

Its small head pokes through the surface and the rest of its body tumbles out as the eggshell splits apart. It sits there for a moment, blinking curiously. Lifting its head, it looks around, not paying attention to the captains approaching it with harnesses. It seems to be focusing on something in the distance and it's only when Grantaire hears Eponine's breath hitch that he realises that the dragon is looking at her.

Getting to its feet, it waits a moment to be sure of its balance, and then walks over to where she is standing.

"Hello," it greets her in Russian, voice high and feminine. "What is your name?"

"Eponine," she replies uncertainly, looking up at Grantaire, and then at Volkova and the other captains.

"Somebody give the girl a harness," Volkova speaks up. She catches Grantaire's eye and smiles. "What is one Ironwing, when we have three new French dragons? And who of us is willing to argue against the choices a dragon makes?"

Eponine's hands are shaking as she takes the harness. In Russian, she slowly says, "My name is Eponine Thénardier."

She holds the harness up and the dragon happily puts her head through. "Will you give me a name, Eponine?"

"Ah…" She pauses, brow furrowed in thought. "I will give you a Russian name. Is… Dinara okay?"

"Dinara," the Ironwing repeats, sounding pleased. "Oh, that is a wonderful name. Thank you."

Eponine flushes, looking pleased. She reaches out to stroke her fingers over the ridges on Dinara's neck and the dragon makes a happy sound, leaning into the contact.

"We should go," Grantaire murmurs, turning to Enjolras. Thy slip out while Eponine is speaking to Dinara, the dragon asking if she will be taught how to speak French.

Grantaire keeps his hand on the small of Enjolras' back as they walk back to their room, having made the mutual decision to go there without the need for words.

The moment the door is shut behind them, Grantaire pushes Enjolras against him and kisses him hard. They've kissed each other the precious couple of nights before passing out with exhaustion, but those have been brief and chaste, nothing like the way they are kissing now.

Enjolras sighs into Grantaire's mouth as their hands go to each other's hair, pulling each other even closer. Grantaire pulls away just long enough to bury his face in Enjolras' neck and kiss it before speaking.

"Are we going to do this?" he asks. "I mean, _seriously_ do this, now that we're not going to die?"

"Are you asking if we're going to start a relationship?" Enjolras asks, placing his hands on the sides of Grantaire's face and pulling him back up to kiss his lips lightly, smiling. "Because I would like to. If that is what you want."

" _Yes_ ," Grantaire whispers. "Enjolras, you have no idea…"

"I love you," Enjolras tells him, and Grantaire doesn't think he's ever going to grow sick of hearing it. He smiles brightly and presses another kiss to Enjolras' lips. 

"Patria will have to get used to sharing you now, I suppose."

"Oh, you should hear how happy she is," Enjolras mutters, though he's smiling. "She's learned her lesson and is making an effort to be much quieter when she speaks about these kinds of things now, but she's been unbearably smug ever since that first night. She tells me that she's been waiting for us to open our eyes for a long time."

"Well, for what it's worth," Grantaire murmurs, "I'm glad that we finally did."

"As am I," Enjolras says warmly. He pulls Grantaire into another deep kiss and this time, they stay there with their arms wrapped around each other, tongues sliding against each other.

"Enjolras—" Grantaire says as they pull apart. His arms are still around Enjolras' waist and he's pulling. 

" _Yes_." Enjolras goes gladly, pushing Grantaire towards the bed nearest to them, pushing him down to sit and then climbing into his lap, straddling him.

They kiss hungrily, Grantaire's hands making quick work of Enjolras' belt and untucking his shirt, his hands going under the material and running over the warm skin of Enjolras' back. Enjolras buries his hands into Grantaire's hair again, pulling him into another kiss. They can't get enough of each other's mouths and they don't even pull apart as Grantaire lies back on the bed with Enjolras on top of him.

They begin rocking against each other slowly, quietly panting into each other's open mouths. Grantaire slides his hands down the back of Enjolras' pants, pulling him closer, until they're grinding against each other in earnest, quiet gasps and moans escaping from their lips. 

"Fuck, Enjolras." Grantaire pauses just long enough that they can both get to their feet and remove their pants, kicking them off and quickly forgetting about them in favour of focusing on each other once again.

Grantaire pushes Enjolras down to lie on the bed this time before crawling after him, holding himself up on all fours so that he's not putting his weight on Enjolras just yet.

Enjolras makes an impatient sound and wraps a hand around the back of Grantaire's neck, pulling him down so that they can kiss, their bodies pressed against each other. They both moan as their hard cocks brush against each other, and Enjolras' grip on him tightens. 

Grantaire wraps his hand around both of them, stroking as they continue to grind against each other. Neither of them last for very long, tense and inexperienced as they are, but Grantaire drinks in the gasps Enjolras lets out, the _ah, ah, ah_ that grows louder, higher as he gets closer. Enjolras comes first and Grantaire follows close behind with a low moan. 

They clean themselves up with a cloth before settling back into bed, with their arms wrapped around each other as they share the narrow space, stealing both beds' blankets for the extra warmth. Grantaire can't stop smiling and the best thing is that Enjolras can't, either. There is nowhere else in the world that Grantaire would rather be.

«·»

All Bahorel needs to do the following morning is take one look at Grantaire and Enjolras, and he knows. To be fair, he's seen it coming for a while—he's certain that most of them have—but it's still good to see them looking happy together like this, without any of the uncertainty from before. They're comfortable with themselves, with each other, and when Bahorel catches Grantaire's eye, he smiles wider than he ever has before.

While Bahorel isn't at all surprised by the developments between Grantaire and Enjolras, he cannot say the same when Eponine comes into the courtyard with a young dragon by her side. 

Marius smiles at her encouragingly, which says that he already knows. Bahorel supposes that this makes sense; Marius would have had to know that he's lost his first-lieutenant as soon as possible. Neither Grantaire nor Enjolras look surprised either, and Bahorel will have to talk to Grantaire later to find out exactly what happened but for now, he goes over with the others to congratulate Eponine and to take a closer look at the Ironwing. 

Eponine introduces her dragon as Dinara, and there is a happiness to her voice that Bahorel hasn't heard since Marius and Cosette first met. He smiles at her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She can't stop herself from looking down at Dinara with utter fondness and Dinara is equally thrilled by Eponine, returning to her side between meeting all of the other aviators, eager for more of her attention. 

The three dragonets that had hatched from the French eggs join Dinara in the courtyard, slightly larger than she is but extremely friendly, running around and playing with her until they tire. The Russian captains join Eponine, talking about training together and Bahorel notices how much Eponine's Russian has improved from yesterday. He smiles at the thought of her new dragon teaching her, and his smile grows when he realises that Dinara is talking to the other dragons in French.

"Grantaire!" they greet happily, going to his side and nuzzling against him as he crouches down and pets them all. 

"I hope you are all being good," he tells them with a soft look in his eyes. "Don't cause your captains any unnecessary grief."

"He thinks of himself as their parent," Enjolras says to Bahorel, not bothering to lower his voice. There's an undercurrent of fondness beneath the mockery and Grantaire looks up with a laugh.

"I make a wonderful dragon parent, thank you. I got all three of them here safely, didn't I?"

"You did!" the dragons tell him. "Oh, Grantaire, will you sing to us again?"

"Sing?" Bahorel repeats. "You were singing to the dragons?"

"Every single night," Enjolras answers, not taking his eyes away from Grantaire. "He would cradle them and sing to them, like they were children."

"Back when they were just eggs?" Bahorel asks, and then later, when the dragonets have happily returned to their captains, he asks, "Why didn't you keep one?"

Grantaire simply shrugs. "They weren't mine to keep. I don't mind. I'm happy to return to Patria's crew once I can."

Bahorel frowns. "Is this because Enjolras—"

"It has nothing to do with Enjolras," Grantaire replies calmly. He pauses and says, "Or at the very least, it doesn't have very _much_ to do with Enjolras. I'm just much happier when I'm not the one who is in charge of making all of the decisions."

Bahorel laughs at that. "Yes, that does sound like you."

They both look over to where Eponine is sitting with Dinara, and Grantaire says, "I'm glad that she found another recipient for her love. Speaking of which, you and Jehan—"

"I'll talk about me and Jehan if you're willing to talk about you and Enjolras."

Grantaire laughs at that, folding his arms across his chest. "Fair enough. I'll just say that I'm happy that you've finally opened your fucking eyes and realised what was right in front of you."

"Right back at you." Bahorel nudges him with an elbow and grins. "We both have stunning observational skills, don't we?"

"The best." Grantaire laughs. "Come on, I think the baby dragons are going to start training soon. I'm going to go watch and be a proud parent."

"If you're a parent, does that make Enjolras one too?" Bahorel asks, following him.

"Be glad you didn't yell that," Enjolras says as he joins them. Bahorel clutches his chest for dramatic effect.

"I'm definitely glad about it now."

Over the next two and a half weeks, they all train together. The French dragons are invited to join the Russians with their drills, because there's no point in keeping them apart when there are so few of them, especially when the four younger dragons are all training together. Most of the aviators quickly learn to become bilingual, at the very least being able to understand the most basic of instructions in both languages to make things much easier to communicate. 

The French aviators adopt the Russians' flag codes, agreeing that if it does come down to a fight against France when they finally make a move, it would be more beneficial to use a system that their enemies won't be able to understand quite so easily.

Patria takes the young Flamme-de-Gloire under her wing immediately, teaching him how to breathe fire as soon as he is capable of producing it. The Fleurs-de-Nuit tend to sleep when it is brightest, because while their eyes are less sensitive than their original ancestors, it's much more beneficial to use them at night, and they naturally develop their nocturnal tendencies. The captains manage to work out a training schedule that fits around this, however, so it's not a problem.

Then, finally, Volkova announces that they have a plan of attack. 

The French have heard nothing of what has happened to Liberté, Patria or Max, or their crews. Javert and Veneur have been declared missing, presumed dead, but nobody is looking for them either. As far as the French are concerned, those in power have won and have achieved exactly what they wanted. Bahorel can't wait until they realise that they are wrong and judging by the looks on his friends' faces, he's certainly not the only one who is thinking this.

It has been agreed that the British will approach from one side, after giving the Russian and Prussian aerial forces enough time to fly over from the other. Valjean eagerly offers his knowledge and experience delivering messages between countries, and it is agreed that he will go with the other couriers so that the British know exactly when to attack. If all goes well, they will converge on Paris at the same time, and force Admiral Phillipe to stand down.

Bahorel is looking forward to this; even if it's not an all-out fight, he knows that this time, they will achieve what they couldn't during their revolutions, when they were outnumbered and outranked. _This_ will give them the change that they are all after. He can see it in Enjolras' eyes and in Grantaire's smile. This is how they are going to change the world and none of them can wait to get started.

A full month after hatching from their eggs, the young dragons have grown much larger. Dinara is approaching her full size, while the others still have some way to go. She has trained with the countless other Ironwings in the Russian forces, learning the most effective techniques of biting and transmitting her venom, knowing when to use it and when not to risk herself for the chance of a bite. Eponine is a doting captain who spends hours with her dragon and she takes some of Grantaire's crew, now much more experienced in the air than they were when they first set out. She almost takes Musichetta as her first-lieutenant, but decides against it when both Bossuet and Joly look panicked at the very thought of being on a different crew to her. She takes Cosette from Grantaire instead, and it seems to strengthen their friendship. 

Finally, the day arrives that they are all to set out and Bahorel is impressed by just how many dragons the Russians send out. Several of the dragons at this base stay where they are, but they join with several more formations from other bases located throughout the country and Bahorel immediately understands why it's taken them this long to coordinate everything. He's always known that Russia is a large country, but the sheer number of dragons and the time it has taken all of them to meet at the one place serves to put things into better perspective.

Enjolras and Patria are both thrumming with excitement and Grantaire does not hesitate to tease Enjolras about it, despite the fact that he looks just as excited for this to happen. 

"This is the future," Enjolras tells them all, as they are gathered in the mess hall the morning before they leave. "This is our future that we are carving out for ourselves now. For the people. For the dragons. For everyone."

"Vive La France!" Grantaire cheers, and they all join him, cheering not for the France that exists, but the France that will be.

«·»

The sight of all the dragon fleets gathering together is a breathtaking sight. Combeferre stands beside Enjolras, his eyes wide as he takes them all in, not even bothering to try and count them all.

"I think this will do the trick," Courfeyrac says with a quiet laugh. "Christ, and this isn't even counting the British."

"I hope that the Armee doesn't send their dragons to fight us," Enjolras says grimly. "And I can only hope that we will not have to fight back for very long, if they do."

Combeferre nods in understanding. Ultimately, what they are trying to do is stop the dragons from coming to any more needless harm. The revolution was bad enough; he knows that Enjolras still carries the blame for all the death that had resulted because of it. This is at a much larger scale and if this ends badly, Combeferre has no doubt that Enjolras will blame himself for all of it anyway.

There is no doubt that the French patrol dragons must have seen them by now, their numbers growing as they fly from Russia, back towards France via Germany, more and more countries adding their numbers to the ranks. It's terrifying, to think that so many countries would turn against one in such great numbers like this, but it's also reassuring to know that they have all noticed, that's it's not just something that their small group of captains have taken issue with. 

It gives Combeferre added motivation to see this through successfully. If they do this right, if they can remove Admiral Phillipe from his seat of power, they can rebuild the Armee de l'Air. They can make it so that they will never come to this again. They can learn from their mistakes, and make sure not to repeat them. They will make sure to replace Phillipe with a new admiral who will care, who will actually listen to his captains and care for the dragons under his command. They will make all of this right.

Enjolras, for once, is cautious rather than being entirely optimistic. He, too, has learned from his mistakes and Combeferre does all he can to make sure that he is there to support him, to make sure that he knows that they are all in this together. There may be countless dragons assembled to intimidate France into surrendering, but the important thing is that at the very core, they are all here together, just as they were the first time. At the very core, this is still something that they are all doing for Lamarque, to uphold his beliefs, to make sure that they did not die with him. 

Combeferre knows that Enjolras is thinking of the exact same thing when he sees the slight sheen of tears in his piercing blue eyes. Combeferre places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Enjolras turns to look over his shoulder with a grateful smile and Courfeyrac does the same at his other side. They stand together, they way that they always have, and even though Combeferre knows better than to blindly believe, he is certain that this time, they will succeed. This time, they will win.

Despite the fact that there are so many dragons together, the French still send out small groups of captains—clearly terrified out of their minds in the face of their certain deaths—to fight them off. Volkova and the other admirals have already sent out the general order to avoid doing harm to these dragons; as a whole, they simply fly towards them without pause, and then fly right past them without attacking, giving the French dragons the space to turn back, or to regroup elsewhere. 

"They won't stop coming," Enjolras comments, his brows drawn together unhappily. "Phillipe is a stubborn bastard who will continue sending his captains and their dragons to their deaths until he doesn't have any more lives to throw away."

"At least no harm is coming to them," Courfeyrac points out. "And I doubt that any of these captains are particularly thrilled with Phillipe either, at this point."

"He is beginning to show his true nature," Combeferre says. "He cares more for how _he_ looks, how France looks, in the end."

"We will stop him soon enough." Enjolras sounds so determined that it's impossible not to believe him.

They all fly in a large formation, barely any space between each dragon, and Combeferre can only imagine how terrifying a sight it must be to behold. Every group of attacking dragons that approaches them now quickly turns away when they get too close, knowing that they're outnumbered and that there is no way of coming out of this kind of fight alive. They are wary, expecting to be chased, to be defeated, and when Combeferre looks back at them through his spyglass once they've passed, he can see how relieved they all look.

Then, finally, they're all converging on Paris. There are far too many of them to land their dragons, but they have already decided on a few dragons to fly forward. Patria, Liberté and Max are part of this group, along with Zhalo, Volkova's Ironwing, and the other admirals on their dragons. 

There's another group of dragons behind them as back-up, just in case they're attacked. The British dragons come from the other side, with both Valjean and Javert among their numbers. A handful of dragons come forward to join with Patria's group and Volkova takes point, raising her speaking trumpet when they are close enough to the ground, to speak.

"Stand down, Phillipe. You are surrounded and outnumbered. Your captains will not fight for you when they know they will lose. You have cost them enough already." 

Enjolras watches nervously from his position. Behind him, Combeferre takes Courfeyrac's hand and squeezes, needing the comfort, needing _something_ to do as they wait for Phillipe to respond.

He does so by taking to the air on the back of his Chanson-de-Guerre. The dragon roars, flying towards them. Zhalo flies out of the way and even though it has been agreed that they will not attack the French dragons, this is not the case for Phillipe.

It is Liberté who charges forward, roaring in reply. The two dragons fly at each other and Combeferre watches on. Enjolras has one hand tightly gripping Patria's harness, the other holding his spyglass to his eye so that he can watch the battle. He is concerned for Liberté, for Grantaire, and Combeferre places a hand on his back as he watches on as well.

"No," Enjolras whispers, when Liberté roars in pain as he is fired upon, some of the bullets hitting their targets. He continues flying unhindered, but Combeferre can feel his stomach lurch with fear. Liberté snaps, his large teeth sinking into Charon's side, which earns a louder roar from the other dragon. 

"We have to help," Patria says urgently. "I do not want to stay back and watch as they fight each other."

"It would not be a fair fight," Enjolras replies. He pulls his spyglass away from his eye for a moment to give Combeferre a look of desperation, needing the reassurance just as he is giving it. "Liberté knows what he is doing. They will be fine."

"Yes," Combeferre nods. "They will."

Liberté, being the larger dragon, has the distinct advantage as they grapple with each other, but Phillipe has the more experienced crew. Grantaire orders his riflemen to fire upon Charon but none of them make their targets. They make another pass at each other and this time, Liberté comes away with even more injuries. 

As they continue fighting, Phillipe exploits all of his advantages; he has more experience that Grantaire, his crew has more expereince than Grantaire's, and whatever advantage that might have come from Liberté's experience is quickly being lost as he sustains more damage, slowing him down as he flies, part of the crew focusing on attending to the injuries and making sure that they're nothing too serious.

"They are losing!" Patria declares miserably. "Enjolras, please, I do not want to stay here when we can _help_!"

"I know," Enjolras' voice is filled with concern, and he's stroking Patria's scales to comfort them both. "I know. Just a little longer, my dear, we'll give them a little longer and then—"

"Look," Courfeyrac asks, cutting him off. He points at the dragons rising into the air from the base. They immediately move into their formations and join Liberté and Charon in the air above the base. "What are they doing?"

"They're going to attack Liberté," Enjolras says desperately, folding his spyglass and putting it away, "Patria—"

"Wait." Combeferre stops him with a hand on his arm. "Breathe, Enjolras. Take a look."

Enjolras pauses and looks back up. His breath hitches and his voice is uncertain when he says, "Are they…?"

The dragons are surrounding Charon, blocking her path to Liberté. When she tries to attack them, they stop her in a group, outnumbering her, until she cannot fight back. They close in on her and a couple of the dragons fly over, their crews moving from their dragons' backs onto Charon.

"They're boarding her," Courfeyrac says in wonder. 

"They're stopping her," Enjolras says, and he sounds proud, elated, relieved, all at once. "They're working together and they're _stopping her_."

Liberté is bleeding profusely now, and Grantaire directs him to land. He does so heavily, his head drooping, and several ground crews run to attend to him at once. Combeferre cannot be certain at this height, but he is sure that there are at least three different dragon physicians running over to take a look at him.

Charon is made to land, with Phillipe in custody. There are ten aviators keeping an eye on him, making sure that he does not escape. Charon is unhappy, but when she lands, she crosses the courtyard to Liberté and noses at him gently.

"I am sorry," she says, loud enough that they can still hear her from the air. "I did not want to do you any harm."

Liberté lifts his head and gently butts Charon affectionately. "I know that. You were simply following the orders you were given by your captain."

Enjolras instructs Patria to land in the courtyard, along with Max, Zhalo and some of the other dragons. Combeferre knows that the one thing Enjolras wants to do most right now is to get down and go over to Liberté, to check on his injuries, to check on Grantaire, but he stays where he is, making sure that everyone in his crew is settled, that they all know what they are doing. The crews are to stay with the dragons, just to ensure that they are kept safe. The captains gather with their first-lieutenants and Enjolras cannot hide his relief when Grantaire walks over to join them, with Lefévre. 

"Are you alright?" Grantaire asks, placing a hand on Enjolras' upper arm.

Enjolras laughs quietly. "Are _you_? You terrified me. Again."

"Not my fault this time," Grantaire murmurs, and then turns to the group at large and says, "Phillipe is being held by the captains that once worked under him. It would seem that even they have grown tired of him."

"I have reports from our scouts that say that there are other French admirals flying towards Paris as we speak," Volkova says. "Alone, instead of flying in formation. I think that everybody knows that Phillipe's reign is finished."

Enjolras nods, looking pleased. Grantaire nudges him gently and says, "It was Liberté. He inspired the people to fight for themselves. To fight for their own freedom. They would not stand to see Liberté attacked like that."

This earns him a warm smile from Enjolras, who leads the way inside to where Phillipe is being held.

Three admirals join them, arriving not half an hour later, all of them more than willing to hand Phillipe over. One of them brings up that it was Phillipe who had poisoned Lamarque, and another agrees. Combeferre and Grantaire both have to restrain Enjolras, in order to make sure he doesn't attack Phillipe when he finally admits it himself.

"You will grow weak," Phillipe spits at them as he is led away. "France, as a country, will grow weak. You will fall, and you will regret this day. You will regret the fact that none of you are strong enough to lead."

There is a silence in Phillipe's wake and Volkova politely clears her throat, looking at Grantaire. "Who will replace him as Grand Admiral?"

One of the other admirals, Chastain, clears his throat. "Someone would have to be recommended for the position—"

"Make it somebody worthy of the position," Volkova interrupts briskly. "It was thanks to your captains Grantaire, Enjolras and Pontmercy that we did not attack without mercy, but I do not want you to think that we will hesitate to do so, if it is warranted in the future."

"Phillipe will be executed," Chastain announces. "Charon will be taken to the breeding grounds, if she comes willingly."

When they go back outside, Charon is much calmer than most dragons would be in her position. Combeferre has no doubt that this is due to Liberté, who is still speaking calmly to her, telling her that none of this was her fault. Patria and Max have joined them as well, eagerly agreeing with Liberté. Most of the dragons that had gathered have gone; their presence had only been needed for long enough to get the point across and they have their own matters to attend to. The admirals of the other aerial corps remain, speaking to Chastain and the two other admirals, Dupont and Montagne. 

"How are you feeling, Liberté?" Grantaire asks, as they approach him.

"Much better now that I am resting, thank you." Liberté lowers his head enough that Grantaire can reach it, stroking his jaw. "Though I do not think I am particularly keen to see that much excitement again. I think that I might stay here, without a captain, for now. I suppose that I could always train the younger dragons."

"You'll make a wonderful teacher," Grantaire tells him. "You've taught me more than I ever thought I would learn."

"And you would make a good captain," Liberté responds. He addresses Enjolras this time. "You are lucky that he is so happy to return to your crew. To you."

Enjolras smiles at that, ducking head and taking Grantaire's hand into his own, squeezing it gently. Grantaire grins at him, squeezing in return.

The rest of their friends join them, one by one, until they are all there, gathered by the dragons, safe, alive, and together.

There is much more to be done; they know that this is only the very beginning, but it's the beginning of something _wonderful_ and each and every one of them can feel it. This is the first step of the change that they have been seeking to make in the world. They will only go forward from here, and they will do it together.


End file.
